


Fae Tales - Alternative Perspectives

by not_poignant



Series: The Fae Tales Verse - canon extras [10]
Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Augus has 4000 feelings and he hates it, BDSM, Blood and Gore, Comfort, Damaged Characters are Damaged, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent, Family Issues, Forced Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Id Fic, Imprisonment, Injury, King and Captive, M/M, PTSD, Porn With Plot, Power Play, Role Reversal, Slow Sex, Somnophilia, Sounding, Touch-Starved, Trauma, care, growing relationship, post-torture, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant
Summary: Selected alternative point of view chapters from the Fae Tales canon universe. The first batch are fromGame Theoryand show alternate perspectives of chapters Slow, Rollercoaster and Trade. Tags will continue to be added per chapter!





	1. Slow (Augus POV)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to some alternative perspectives! People have been suggesting these for years, and I finally did a vote and then from the shortlist, these were the most voted for chapters. There will probably be more of these in the future one day, but for now, we're starting with these gems. 
> 
> An alternative perspective of [Chapter 18 of _Game Theory_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/915296/chapters/1975510/)

_Augus_

*

Augus walked dazedly back to his rooms – _his rooms_ – and felt like he’d still not spent long enough in the lake.

The past few days, he’d sunk deep, shifted to waterhorse form and let his mind go as still and quiet as it could, having gone so long without food. Being fully immersed, even with the dark crowding around him, returned equilibrium to him. There was only so much he could achieve, meditating in a cell and slowly drying out. Resting at the bottom of a lake was a balm, water filling his lungs, his teeth wretchedly long and sharp with nothing to hurt or hunt.

It was also the safest place in the Seelie Court. The place where Gwyn couldn’t get to him if he suddenly changed his mind on the privileges he let Augus access. The place where Augus didn’t have to deal with the steady betrayals in his own mind.

Because something about Gwyn kept making him change his plans. He’d stopped sounding Gwyn, swearing never to do it again, and then he’d abruptly gone against his desire to choke Gwyn when it was clear he didn’t want it. He _knew_ he could make Gwyn like that. But one minor tantrum from Gwyn, and he’d come up with a new plan. _Again._

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Oh, certainly, Gwyn was still remarkably easy to manipulate, still allowed Augus to do almost anything to him – what a revelation that was – but Augus was the one softening around him.

That wasn’t safe. Was it that Augus wanted to appease him somehow? Was it that he’d been Augus’ client in the past, and Augus couldn’t help but want to take care of him even now?

Infuriating.

At least the trows were accommodating. At least he could recover in the lake.

_Recover, as opposed to hiding, as opposed to using the lake as a place to exercise all that denial you’re still fantastic at._

Augus rubbed tiredly at his forehead. Shifting out of waterhorse form on an empty stomach wasn’t pleasant at the best of times, and while his life had improved vastly compared to what it had been, it definitely wasn’t anywhere near _the best of times._ No matter how he tried to make the most of it.

He smirked to himself. Yes, making the most of captivity, the Seelie Court, fucking the King until he cried.

That was tolerable.

Augus turned down another corridor, relieved to be closer to his rooms. He’d done some exploring, but the rest of the Court was so patently not his space, and sometimes he just wanted something familiar. He had a herbal book he was looking forward to finishing, learning that the Seelie Court library had far more tomes to choose from than the average merchant. It would be nice if-

The scrape of feet on a stone floor – not his own – and Augus didn’t even have a chance to tense before his wrists were grabbed in a grip painfully tight. He hissed, baring his teeth instinctively, even as his legs were swept from beneath him. A flash of panic jolted all the way down his spine and he tried struggling, tried to stand, tried to twist his wrists free and couldn’t.

_What the-_

A flash of _light_ , that rush of warm teleportation, and Augus was simultaneously relieved and more outraged than before. _Gwyn._

When the light faded, Augus realised abruptly that they were already on Gwyn’s bed. Augus was facedown, growling in the back of his throat, the relief vanishing into something dark and feral. Was this to be it? Was he about to get demoted? _Killed?_ He tried to yank his wrists free and only succeeded in bruising himself – Gwyn was only using one hand now, it wasn’t _fair_ – grinding his teeth together when he felt Gwyn’s knees on either side of his hips.

‘Surprise,’ Gwyn said. He sounded smug already, Augus wanted to scratch his cheek off. ‘All those times you ambushed me, Augus, it’s not much fun, is it?’

Well, no, but that wasn’t the point.

‘I have a book I want to finish. Just fuck me and get it over with.’

Because that was the point, wasn’t it? He did _not_ feel up to being cored out by Gwyn’s battering ram of a cock. Growling again, Augus tried to get free, to at least get his legs underneath himself so he could flip Gwyn off his back, but he was a lower status pitting himself against Gwyn in fine form. It was pointless. He felt despair twine into him, pulling itself into a knot inside his chest as he laughed.

‘I really do have a book I want to finish.’

Augus jolted when he felt Gwyn’s nose in his hair. Was the beast _smelling_ him? Then lips against his ear, and Augus rolled his eyes, tensed as Gwyn’s free hand came to rest at the back of his head. Did Gwyn _know?_ Did he know what that meant to waterhorses like Augus and Ash?

_Underhanded manipulative Seelie oaf._

‘You like slow,’ Gwyn said. ‘I remember.’

_No._

Augus stilled. Gwyn _remembered?_ Gwyn had basically been catatonic during most of that sounding session, and what, he wanted to use slow seduction now? The idea of Gwyn trying to touch Augus the way Augus most liked to touch himself was both laughable and alarming. Augus didn’t let anyone else touch him like that.

‘I want to try, but you won’t let me. That’s never been a problem though, between us, has it?’

‘I can’t wait to see your definition of slow, I bet-’

‘-I’m going to tie your wrists. I don’t trust your hands. But I’ll tie nothing else. If you fight me, I’ll restrain you properly.’

Augus’ breathing turned shallow. Gwyn _meant_ it. He tried to blink the waterhorse fogginess out of his mind, all he wanted to do was rip Gwyn’s throat out and go lie down quietly somewhere. But that wasn’t going to help him.

A tear, and Gwyn was ripping _another_ one of his shirts. Augus scoffed as Gwyn bodily undressed him.

_Oh yes, this is wonderfully slow and seductive. Your powers to seduce are rendering me weak with lust._

‘Yes… I can see how this is very convincing,’ Augus said. ‘You-’

‘You know as well as I do that if I ask you nicely, you’ll retaliate. I know a little of you, Augus. I know you don’t go as easily as I do.’

A flash of delight that Gwyn thought any of this was going to go his way. ‘Gwyn, I won’t go at all.’

‘We’ll see.’

Gwyn continued undressing Augus, and Augus refused to cooperate as his wrists were tied to the headboard, as Gwyn showed off his strength and turned Augus carefully to his back. Even making sure Augus’ head was resting on the pillows. Five seconds of consideration meant nothing. It was absurd that Gwyn even wanted to try.

‘You can’t do this.’

‘That just makes me want to prove you wrong.’

‘I give you ten minutes, and I’m being generous.’

He could tell what he was saying was having an impact by the way Gwyn looked at him. But Gwyn didn’t stop, didn’t retort, instead straddled his hips and looked down at Augus’ body. Seconds later his hands – incredibly warm – rested on Augus’ chest. Augus almost felt sorry for how confused he looked. Gwyn’s concept of being seductive likely involved stroking Augus’ side three times before fucking him until he bled.

At least then Augus could go heal and read his book.

He was surprised when Gwyn shifted, sitting alongside him instead, no longer straddling him. His eyebrows furrowed. Gwyn rested his arm over Augus’ chest, then pressed fingertips deliberately to Augus’ sternum. Then fingers – broad, calloused fingers – trailed to Augus’ flank and began to slowly stroke him. Gwyn’s face was fascinated.

In the space of sixty seconds, Gwyn had opened a door that Augus didn’t even know Gwyn _had_ inside of him. This was _Gwyn._ This was the fool who didn’t even know how to embrace people properly.

Gwyn looked at him. ‘I don’t know what you like.’

‘I’d like to finish my book,’ Augus said reflexively, his voice mild.

‘There’s always tomorrow.’

The quip was annoying. Clearly Gwyn had no intention of stopping. Then, that hand – that ungainly _paw_ – at his mouth, Gwyn’s broad thumb tracing over his bottom lip. Then he did it again, as though it was imperative that he feel every millimetre, making every part of Augus’ skin light up beneath the slower touch.

That was so close to how Augus touched himself sometimes that he inhaled helplessly, his hands twitching where they were bound.

It was unnerving, the way Gwyn noticed the reaction, the way his fingers curved across Augus’ skin, prickling at the nerve endings, making his heart beat more heavily. Gwyn was cupping his jaw, watching, and Augus briefly entertained the thought that maybe Gwyn could do this. Or at least some facsimile of it. He didn’t want Gwyn to know that side of him, didn’t want him to see any of it.

But Augus couldn’t escape, and Gwyn was stroking his neck now, those same measured movements. Augus stared ahead, trying to understand.

Was Gwyn really so determined to learn this? He wanted to do that for _Augus?_ Or no, for his own self-satisfaction? Some sense of schadenfreude, to do this, and then take it away?

Gwyn traced his collarbone, slow enough that Augus felt his shoulders start to unlock, his breath catching with how good it felt.

_Oh._

Augus liked doing that to himself, though usually with two hands. Starting at his clavicle and tracing outwards, both collarbones at the same time, and his head could tip back with it. When Gwyn did it again, Augus stared at him, Gwyn watching back. Gwyn licked his lips, and Augus felt pinned beneath that avid focus.

A palm moving down his chest, firm and slow, dragging across his nipple with a steady pressure that was good, warm, wakening lust inside him and Augus was disarmed because Gwyn had picked it up _quickly._ It felt good, the waterhorse side of himself that still lurked, turned quiescent. Augus’ eyelids dropped, and he forced his eyes open again.

Gwyn knew too much already.

‘Untie my hands,’ Augus said. Gwyn only shook his head. ‘Untie my hands and I’ll tell you when you’re doing something I like.’

_Untie me and let me end this. Won’t it be better for both of us if I just fuck you into the bed?_

‘I can tell when I’m doing something you like,’ Gwyn said.

Lips pressed against his collarbone, that skin – rougher than his own – dragging over his nipple again. Augus masked his expression as much as possible. He didn’t want Gwyn to have this knowledge. He didn’t want Gwyn to _have this._ ‘I know you like this.’

A too hot tongue licking over his collarbone, teeth gently scraping, and Augus wanted it. Wanted it and didn’t want Gwyn to have any of it. Augus was too private to let anyone else touch him like this. No one ever had. He twitched before he mastered himself again.

‘I thought you’d hold out longer than this,’ Gwyn taunted. ‘I thought I’d be doing this for at least ten minutes before you reacted.’

That stung, somehow. ‘I’m not made of stone. You’ve made your point. Let me go.’

‘You taste good.’

Augus yanked his wrists, and the rope didn’t move. _‘Gwyn.’_

A conciliatory palm at his side. ‘I’m not hurting you. Is that the problem? You don’t struggle this much when I hurt you.’

Augus was sure that _wasn’t_ true. He expected Gwyn to say something mean but instead Gwyn was licking beneath his jaw, touching the sensitive skin there, and Augus wanted to scream. He’d learned. He’d somehow learned already. Augus couldn’t tell what was worse, that Gwyn had picked it up, or that Gwyn was going to abandon it all too soon and go back to his fuck-machine self and Augus would be in _no fucking mood at all._

‘I’ll give you a choice,’ Gwyn said. ‘You can stay tied up with both hands behind your back, or I’ll release _one_ hand and tie the other to the bedpost with the scarf that responds only to my touch.’

Gwyn was negotiating. The options were dismal. Augus was trying to think of how to respond, and then fingers were dragging across his scalp and no, it wasn’t fair, _it wasn’t fair._

Augus’ eyes closed against his will, Gwyn’s thick fingers curving slowly around until they rested right at the base of his skull, the back of his neck, and Augus felt himself unspooling, felt himself giving in.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Gwyn said.

A flash of bitterness, Augus imagined that hand at the back of his neck turning cruel, forcing him to answer Gwyn’s options from before. ‘But you will if you have to?’

‘No,’ Gwyn said, sounding shocked. ‘No. I just don’t want to hurt you.’

Augus had to watch him then, even as that hand in his hair felt sinfully good. ‘Do you really want to do this?’

‘I’m doing it, aren’t I?’ Gwyn’s other hand moved down over Augus’ ribs, and Augus felt his stomach jerk. He reached for hard words, something to push him away.

‘You’re not good at it.’

Gwyn swallowed, looked away, and Augus felt that strand of control he’d managed to get back with a single sentence and cradled it close to himself. Yes, let him become defensive. Let him hurt and feel insecure and change his tactics. Let him-

Those fingers at his ribs trailing sensuously, a thumb at Augus’ left hip, and then Gwyn was changing his touch again, moving his hand more slowly than before. He kept doing it, minutes passing, and Augus felt heat pool between his legs, his cock beginning to fill. Fingers still exploring him, avoiding his cock, stroking his pubic hair.

He could feel Gwyn’s eyes on him.

‘Does slow work here too?’

That touch on his inner thigh, melting him with how slow it was going. Trailing back up again and cupping his balls so tenderly that Augus shivered. He resisted the urge to get his wrists free. Couldn’t he have this? For as long as Gwyn was willing to give it? Which would be, what, the next five minutes?

‘You do like this,’ Gwyn said.

‘Of course I do.’

‘You look amazing,’ Gwyn said, his voice more hushed. Augus didn’t bother fighting the smile. Unlike Gwyn, he enjoyed the compliments, and it had been so long – oh, _so long_ – since anyone had found him beautiful. Gwyn took a breath, then said: ‘I want you to come.’

That hand trailing back up his torso, Gwyn’s mouth angling into the sensitive skin between jaw and neck. He was impossible.

‘I want it to happen more than once,’ Gwyn said.

Augus was shocked, amused. ‘Ambitious.’

He’d somehow not expected Gwyn to press the index finger of his other hand into Augus’ nipple. His entire body had slowly sensitised beneath Gwyn’s touch and he swallowed weakly, catching a small moan in his throat.

‘You probably didn’t get attention like this often, when you were with all those people you helped. You focus on them. Maybe you didn’t trust them enough to ask anyway. You seem – honestly – a little surprised, Augus. Are you not used to this?’

‘From you?’ Augus said, making his voice drip amusement while a spike of panic leapt inside of him.

Any fae that underestimated Gwyn’s perception – when Gwyn _wanted_ to be perceptive – did so at their own peril.

Gwyn’s fingers slowly pinching his other nipple and Augus felt that like a wire angling into his chest, down his spine, through his cock. His mouth opened.

‘From anyone?’ Gwyn said. ‘Who would have the patience for this? Is it because your heart-rate is slower than normal? Does the whole world move too fast for you.’

Augus wanted to tell him to stop being ridiculous, but his body was a tuning fork, and Gwyn’s mouth was sucking on his nipple with that same hypnotising slowness and Augus couldn’t do that to himself which meant that _no one_ had done this before. _Ridiculous._

‘I don’t know why. And no, the whole world doesn’t move too fast for me.’

‘You’re being remarkably candid.’

Gwyn looked up and Augus met that gaze, surprised. He wasn’t being that candid. Or was he? He cast his mind back over what he’d said. Was he really so distracted? That wasn’t like him either. And yet Gwyn was looking at him and his plump lips were wet with saliva and…

‘Kiss me,’ Augus said. ‘Slowly.’

He could tell Gwyn was aroused. Could tell his words alone were enough to make that happen. He reminded himself that this wasn’t going to last, decided it was worth reminding Gwyn, too.

‘How long, do you think? How long before you snap and fuck me like a ploughman?’

He was surprised when Gwyn looked _hurt_ by the words. Not indignant or defensive, just…hurt. Was he really so interested in doing this? Was he really trying so hard to hold himself back?

‘But you don’t want that, do you?’

‘I’m trying something new. You’re right, Augus. I’m not good at this.’

But he wanted to be. Augus realised it wasn’t a trick, it was painfully earnest. Augus wanted to help him, wanted to _touch_ him. That urge to offer some consolation was a flash of shame inside of him, but he shoved it away.

‘Release one of my arms,’ Augus said suddenly. ‘Use the scarf that responds only to your touch.’

A pause, and then Gwyn reached beneath the pillows by Augus’ head and drew out the scarf, and Augus was shocked to realise just how planned this was. But then he saw the way the black fabric glinted in the light and realised _exactly_ what scarf it was. He tensed, wary, as Gwyn untied his wrists, watched as he let himself get tied with that hideous scarf to the bedpost.

He hated that scarf. Had spent hours terrified down in the dark, unable to remove it from his mouth, thinking there was something wrong with his strength when really it had been the scarf all along. He’d been so dazed, so hungry, so weak, that it had taken him far too long to realise. Then he’d panicked anyway, feeling truly _trapped_ for the first time since his capture.

In a small amount of time, everything had changed so much. Augus rested his free arm on his own body, grateful to have that small amount of control back, and yet strangely adrift as well. Why hadn’t Gwyn kissed him yet? Augus scowled.

Gwyn leaned in, closed lips pressing gently, not at all claiming or brutal like Augus used to expect. No, this was far more what Gwyn was like. When his mouth opened, his tongue was sensual and slow too, brushing over his top lip, slipping into his mouth, moving back so he could offer a simple kiss on Augus’ bottom lip. It was sweet, and Augus reached up automatically, burying his hand into Gwyn’s hair and-

Gwyn flinched hard, moving back so quickly, looking so frightened. Like… Like he expected to be reprimanded? _Hit?_ It was surprising. It tugged at Augus’ chest, though not enough to erase the lust he was feeling. He wanted Gwyn to keep touching him.

‘I don’t want to hurt you either. Not today. Come back,’ Augus coaxed, making his voice soothing. ‘Come back.’

‘If you use the pressure points, I’ll tie you up again,’ Gwyn said. ‘This is meant to be about you.’

‘Come back,’ Augus coaxed, lowering his hand to seem less threatening.

Slowly, Gwyn returned to kissing him again, and Augus sighed happily.

‘How did you learn you liked this?’ Gwyn said, stroking Augus’ collarbone again, making him shiver. Truthfully, he could have hours of this. Hours.

‘Unlike you, I had no problem learning the lay of my body.’

Then Gwyn was scraping his nail lightly, slowly, over Augus’ nipple. With his other hand he reached for something beneath the pillows – lubricant – and Augus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

He was bemused when Gwyn not only slicked up his own fingers, but Augus’ too. It was almost a hand massage, and surprisingly sensual. Augus had to look away when Gwyn dug his thumb into Augus’ palm.

‘Will you touch yourself?’ Gwyn said. Augus stared.

He hadn’t thought _that_ was where this was going at all. It was sensitive, considerate, _visceral._ It wasn’t just being pounded into the floor of a cell.  

‘Where did this side of you come from?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gwyn said, but he still looked pleased with himself, happy with how things were going.  

Augus slid his hand free from Gwyn’s. Gwyn was asking him to expose himself, and Augus would do it, but he needed to disconnect, looking away. He tilted his head back, dragged his fingers down his torso and his eyes fluttered shut at how well he knew how to touch himself, how every curve and plane of his body – even untouched by him like this for so long – responded perfectly.

Two fingers sliding up his cock, and he left them on the sensitive head, getting lost in the moment. It was a shock when Gwyn did exactly the same thing, fingers slipping between Augus’, and Augus had to swallow a moan as he lifted up and _stared._

‘No, really, _where?’_ Augus said, as Gwyn looked down, looked _shy,_ continued to gently, slowly stroke Augus’ cock, the inside of his sensitive thigh.

_Gods,_ that was good. That was perfect. Augus didn’t bother to hide his moan, Gwyn had earned it.

‘You looked amazing, Augus, when you were moving at your own speed.’ Tenderness in Gwyn’s voice, and something rough and raw, and Augus wanted to grab him by the hair, drag him down and kiss him until he was panting and his neck had flushed red. Instead, Augus lifted his hips and let Gwyn stroke deeper between his legs, swallowing at how risky this was, how interesting, how _good._

‘Am I going too fast?’ Gwyn said.

It was tempting to lie. It was tempting to tell Gwyn he was doing this all terribly. To watch the bruised, crushed look on his face and feel that zing of success as he broke down the Seelie King’s psyche because the fae was so desperate to be treated well, anyone who he held affection for could break him as an afterthought.

Instead of lying, Augus shook his head.

‘Do you still want to read your book?’

_So now he thinks he’s an expert._

‘You think you’re so _clever,’_ Augus said, amused, and then continued to move his fingers on his cock. Augus wanted to show him what clever was, what precise movements were, and Gwyn watched mesmerised.

Then Gwyn stopped touching him, and Augus frowned, uncertain. He was surprised when Gwyn reached up with careful hands and untied Augus’ wrist. As Gwyn put the scarf away, Augus flexed his wrist, wishing he could dig into Gwyn’s mind and see every one of his thoughts.

Instead, he put his hand on Gwyn’s arm, and Gwyn didn’t look happy about it.

_What could be wrong?_

‘I find myself wanting to know how far you can take this,’ Augus encouraged. ‘I didn’t know you could hold out like this.’

Gwyn’s palm was so hot as it curved over his thigh. ‘I want to see how abandoned you can get, Augus. I want to know the sounds you make when you’re not measuring them out on purpose. And I would like to be inside you, while I’m doing it.’

It was a dangerous thing, to think of Gwyn as an inarticulate fool. It was more dangerous, to realise that Augus still had no full grasp of who he was. Augus had plumbed his depths, ruined his heartsong once, drawn out dark truths, and he still wasn’t sure.

Augus curled his whole hand around his cock, lust heating through him. It was…unnerving to have a King talk to him like that. Arousing, too.

‘Is that what you want?’

‘That’s all.’

_Ah, ‘That’s all,’ like he’s asking for nothing at all. He knows what he’s asking. Look at him._

‘It’s not something I find easy to do,’ Augus said, then decided it wasn’t worth trying to control this anymore as Gwyn continued to touch him, those fingers at his inner thigh wonderfully disarming. It was hard not to reward someone trying so hard, especially when it felt so good.

Augus swallowed when Gwyn’s fingers quested deeper between his legs, moving to his entrance.

‘Don’t you?’ Gwyn said, his voice lower. ‘I think you’re doing fine.’

‘Don’t get too cocky, Gwyn. You have-’

A finger pushing inside of him, but not like normal, oh _no,_ nothing like how most people would do it. Slow and firm and inexorable, and Augus’ nerves sung some harmony that drowned what he was going to say. He knew it was important to get more breath, opened his mouth for it, and felt that invasion that was perfect in how slow it was. Perfect because it wasn’t hesitation, there was nothing that stopped Gwyn until his finger was all the way in.

Augus moved his hand away from his cock so he could concentrate on how good it was.

Gwyn curled his finger over Augus’ prostate, and it was like he’d pushed the air directly out of Augus’ lungs. It was a secret that Augus liked this. Almost no fae naturally moved at this pace, not with him. But Gwyn was learning.

‘I think I’m getting exactly what I want,’ Gwyn said. ‘Do you want more?’

‘Fuck, what do you think?’ As though Augus had patience for stupid questions _now._

‘Are you sure?’ Gwyn said, and Augus clenched his ass around Gwyn’s finger, glared at him, not liking that Gwyn was going to be a smug little shit about it. That definitely ruined the mood.

But Gwyn’s expression wasn’t…smug or mean. He wasn’t lording it over Augus. He really did seem to be doing it just because he _wanted_ to? For its own sake? 

Gwyn stroked his prostate again and it wasn’t worth trying to fight this anymore than he had to.

‘I’m sure,’ he said.

He lowered his head back to the pillows, took a deep breath, and then kept up that steady, deep breathing as Gwyn’s finger began slowly moving in and out. It was like he’d read a manual. He knew what to do. A little faster when withdrawing, slower when pushing in, pushing deeper than Augus could with his own fingers which just felt invasive and intimate and lovely. Augus’ hand was back on his cock, tiny motions to enhance everything, nothing to distract him from this wonderful seduction.

When Gwyn pushed in with two fingers, he slowed down even more, making Augus feel every tiny second of sensitive skin stretching. It was knotting up in his gut, as though every nerve wanted to say something at once, communicating up his spine, into his cock, across his chest. He heard himself whimper, and Gwyn kept up that pace, amplifying everything in the process.

It was undoing him far faster than someone getting a clumsy hand on his cock and just going for it. There was no point fighting it. He _could._ He could redirect the responses of his body, block the channels and flows so that his cock went limp, but he wanted this pleasure. He wanted to be worshipped like this. He wanted it from _Gwyn._

A deep, full stroke over Augus’ prostate that never ended. Gwyn just pressing slowly up and into him, and Augus cried out, swore, lost track of all the different trains of thought he was holding balanced in his mind. Augus held his cock tightly as Gwyn did it again – slowly released that pressure, and then pushed back up again until Augus swore he could feel a hundred hands inside of him, all pushing _up,_ turning everything into heavy black pleasure, a molasses of want.

Gwyn’s mouth on him, and Augus gripped his hair hard, then reassured automatically, petting him, massaging him, wanting to return an ounce of the pleasure he was getting.

‘You can’t,’ Gwyn said, moving away from Augus’ touch. Augus looked down at him, confused. ‘It’s…I need to concentrate.’

_Are you having to try so hard?_

And Augus wanted so much to touch him in return, and it was such a novel, strange, bittersweet feeling. To want to receive so much in the first place when he never really had before, to want to give in return, and it not be a meticulously crafted scene that disallowed his own arousal. This was all…so different.

Augus’ thoughts dashed when Gwyn stretched the fingers inside of him, he didn’t bother with anything except feeling again.

‘I want you to come,’ Gwyn said. ‘Most people would want me to speed up, but you don’t, do you? You kept up that same maddening pace when you were riding me all the way through to the end, and it made you spill. So I think…if I do the same thing, now, you will come around my fingers.’

‘You don’t want me to be inside me?’ Augus said as Gwyn’s fingers began thrusting inside him once more.

‘Yes, very much.’

Raw want and that movement inside of him and Augus moaned because he wanted that too.

‘But you can come a second time, can’t you?’ Gwyn said. ‘If I go slowly enough, you can?’

‘Can _you_ thought? Go slowly enough?’

_What are you even saying? He’s doing it. Right now._

‘Never mind.’

‘I like it when you’re wrong,’ Gwyn said.

_I don’t, usually. But I suppose I can see the appeal sometimes._

Gwyn’s fingers moved inside of him, lazy thrusting, striking up sensations that electrified. They didn’t muddy together, each one clear and important and knocking down all of Augus’ self-imposed dams and walls so that he let his moans come freely, his caught breaths, the slow movement of his own hand on his cock. He was going to come. If not in the next minute, then in the next few minutes. Because Gwyn was right, Augus didn’t need something fancy and fast, he just needed…this.

Gwyn had other ideas. What Augus thought would just be the same motions – waves lapping upon a shore – escalated. A hand on his chest, then fingers against his own hand where it grasped his cock, and that slight pressure was exquisite. Augus’ breath stuttered, his back muscles tensed, felt like all his nerve endings were being _lifted_ and-

Gwyn brushed his calloused palm against the head of Augus’ cock. Augus had been rendered so sensitive it _hurt,_ but… _oh,_ Augus couldn’t hold out against that.

He didn’t even try.

His orgasm was heavy and hard, his body clenching down achingly around Gwyn’s fingers, his chest hurting from the force of his gasps. It was as though he was being punished for not giving himself this sensuality long before now, for being used roughly or not at all for such a long time. Augus’ back arched up, his hips pressing down and trapping Gwyn’s fingers, but he focused only on breathing through each trembling spasm, the pleasure so sharp it lanced up through him.

When Gwyn shifted his fingers, Augus was lost.

Eventually the flooding waters of it all receded enough that Augus could slump back into the bed. The aftershocks of pleasure were still rippling all the way through him, he could feel it in his fingertips, in the arches of his feet, even lazily at the backs of his thighs and knees. As though by awakening some of Augus’ nerves, Gwyn had awakened all of them.  

When he opened his eyes, feeling foggy and lax, it was to Gwyn licking unselfconsciously at Augus’ come on his palm. Augus’ cock twitched and it was too soon and it _hurt_ but…

‘Fuck,’ Augus breathed, and Gwyn looked at him, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as well as lust. ‘Gwyn, you are _filthy.’_

Augus loved it. Felt a little breathless when Gwyn didn’t actually stop but slid two fingers into his mouth and sucked and licked away the come, the wet sounds delicious. When Gwyn closed his eyes, eyebrows moving together just a little, Augus wanted to preserve the moment. He was the King of the Seelie fae. He’d murdered tens of thousands of Unseelie fae. And he was sucking Augus’ come off his fingers and he _loved_ it.

_Cautiously going to call this a good day, depending on how the rest of it goes._

Eventually, Gwyn rested his spit-wet fingers on Augus’ body. Augus was enthralled.

‘I never took on clients for more than a day or two.’ Augus traced Gwyn’s arm, and Gwyn moved his arm away, so Augus made a point of reaching and doing it again, staring at him. ‘Every now and then, someone would come, some fae, and I’d want to know what it would be like if they stayed longer. A week. If I had them for a week. Two.’

_If I had you for a month. If you let me twist you up and break you apart and stare at all the threads that made you. I thought about it then. You broke all my rules, and you’re breaking them all now._

It was confounding. ‘You were one of those fae.’

Gwyn’s eyes widened, and where Augus expected surprise or flattery, Gwyn looked _upset._ Augus’ mind leapt tiredly towards it, because was it so impossible that someone could feel that way about Gwyn? Even when Augus met him, he was one of the most lauded War Generals the Seelie Court had ever seen. Augus grasped Gwyn’s wrist, held him in place.

‘It surprised me, at the time. Because all I knew of you was your family’s reputation – both the one they maintained themselves, and the one that floated around in the dark, of their…proclivities. Because I knew of your privilege, your upbringing. I thought I did, anyway. And even then I still wanted to see what would happen if I had you longer.’

Augus could smell carbon in the air. A sharp aftermath of lightning striking the bare earth. _Fear._ Gwyn usually masked it so well. Was he so scared of the attention? Was it that he didn’t want _Augus’_ attention?

But no…

‘That scares you. Why?’

‘Stop distracting me,’ Gwyn said, and then unfairly chose that moment to withdraw one of his fingers from Augus’ ass. Augus hadn’t even been paying much attention. Now he had to. But Augus wanted to know why Gwyn was so caged, so elusive. Likely it was something simple and clichéd and once Augus knew, he’d be bored. But he wasn’t bored now.

It surprised him when Gwyn took Augus’ hand and pulled it down. Moved Augus’ hand until his own middle finger was pressed against his own entrance. His fingers against Gwyn’s palm.

‘Will you?’ Gwyn asked.

Augus was shocked that Gwyn still wanted this. That he wanted _this,_ and not to just bury his cock in Augus’ ass and thrust until he came, because Augus would have allowed it, Gwyn had _earned_ it.

Both fingertips slid into him at the same time – his own and Gwyn’s – and it was strange and good. Augus shifted his hips a little to make the angle easier, finding the sensations of fingering himself while unaroused not actually unpleasant. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d touched himself after orgasm before. He knew what to expect.

Gwyn made a faint, disarmed sound. His finger inside of Augus was still, and Augus realised he had no idea what to do.

‘Copy me,’ Augus said, shifting his finger, swirling it, and then thrusting it carefully, Gwyn matching every movement.

Augus relaxed automatically, feeling like he could trust it. And so his mind drifted as they touched him together, Gwyn’s finger trying gamely to match Augus’ pace, and Augus finding that it was far more piquant with someone else there with him. Another element, another kind of pleasure to have someone so perfectly submissive in this moment, just trying to _please._ That was the best part of it all, Gwyn subsuming whatever hard instincts he had and becoming this. By the gods, if there was a way to get him on a leash and drag him around a room while he was like _this,_ and watch him just _accept_ it…

He lost himself in that fantasy too – in the moment it didn’t seem too unattainable – certainly easier to get to than freedom or any of those other pesky things he sometimes fantasised about. Gwyn was being so delightfully good about every moment of it, and it was minutes later when Augus realised with a jolt that he was getting aroused again. Not just aroused as a dull, distant event, but shaking with it.

‘Augus, are you all right?’

Augus nodded absently, still staring up at the ceiling.

‘Are you quite sure?’

Augus laughed, curled his finger around Gwyn’s, _held_ him in place and swallowed down the moan.

‘I think you can drop the formalities when we’re both fucking me with a finger each, don’t you think?’

‘That’s not an answer.’ The hand on his ribs was reassuring and Augus smiled weakly.

‘I’m all right. I’m all right.’ He met Gwyn’s eyes, slid his own finger out of himself and left Gwyn’s there and still liked it. He could feel the pings of interest in the base of his cock, in the sensitive tip. Lifted his fingers and curled them around his half-hard cock.

‘This… This is fast for me.’

Gwyn bent, forehead pressing to Augus’ hip, hair brushing the skin. His finger still slow, gentle, and Augus could see how tense he was, admired how much Gwyn was fighting himself, his own instincts. He was even proud.

_Look at you, trying so hard for me. Isn’t that nice._

He lowered his hand and stroked it through Gwyn’s hair, rewarding him.

‘You’re trying so hard, aren’t you?’

‘I can do this,’ Gwyn said, like he’d just realised it for himself. It had been so long since Augus had felt like being tender for the sake of being tender, tracing Gwyn’s delicate ear, and he was surprised when Gwyn moved away from it. His hand tightened in Gwyn’s hair.

‘Wait. Just wait.’

‘I need to concentrate,’ Gwyn said, his voice faintly plaintive.

Was it really so hard for him? Augus kept touching him anyway, rubbing at the back of his neck, then dragging his nails back up and liking the way Gwyn’s eyes closed, the moan that followed.

_‘Augus.’_

‘Start moving your fingers again,’ Augus commanded, voice soft. Surely Gwyn could learn that it was possible to have both? To be obedient, to be touched at the same time?

Those fingers inside of him pressing up into his prostate and Augus flinched a little, hissed, felt it like a bruise crawling through him. But when the dull ache of it receded, he was harder in his hand, felt warmer.

He was drifting heavily in the pleasure-ache of it all when his instincts sharpened towards the smell of blood, _not_ his own. He pushed up, alarmed.

‘Why are you bleeding?’

_What_ could have happened in such a short space of time?

‘I bit myself,’ Gwyn said.

_Oh._ Well, then.

‘Concentrating?’ Augus said. Gwyn was stonily silent, or perhaps just embarrassed. It wasn’t at all charming. ‘Come here,’ Augus said, pulling on his hair. ‘Come here. Come up. Let me taste it.’

Gwyn’s laugh was gentle, disbelieving, and he seemed uncertain when he saw that Augus meant it. But he moved up the bed – keeping his fingers inside of Augus – and Augus controlled the kiss, bringing his lips up, slipping his tongue in to find the wound. Not on his tongue, but there, on the inside of his lip, and Augus sucked hungrily, keeping Gwyn’s head still.

A flash of wanting to push Gwyn down onto the bed and fuck him until the whole room smelled of blood, and Augus corralled that back – the bloodlust that came with tasting blood and not having eaten a human in so long was sometimes very invasive – and instead, he forced himself to focus on this moment. Gwyn’s fingers inside of him, and now, his blood. Gwyn’s breathing was shaky and gorgeous.

Gwyn leaned backwards, frowning. ‘It’s disturbing, how much you enjoy doing that.’

Augus smiled at him. ‘As disturbing as how much you like it?’

Augus reached for Gwyn’s cock, unable to help himself, and Gwyn scooted out of the way.

‘Will you stop?’

Perhaps Gwyn didn’t realise how much Augus wanted to chase when he was like this. ‘I like you like this. I want to play.’

‘If you don’t keep your hands to yourself, I will tie them up again.’

Augus stilled, then rolled his eyes. Unfair. Maybe Gwyn didn’t mean it, but it wasn’t worth calling the bluff.

‘If you say so.’

Gwyn ignored him, lowered his head and began to lick and kiss his collarbones and chest instead. He kept to that same slow pace. Augus’ desire to take control back eased, he lost himself in the wetness of Gwyn’s tongue, the teeth scraping over his nipple. The downward movement of Gwyn’s mouth until he could breathe into Augus’ pubic hair.

Augus was arrested by it, weighted down by the attention.

Then Gwyn’s mouth licking over Augus’ hand where he touched himself, doing that until he could lick upwards, over Augus’ fingers, over the sensitive head of Augus’ cock.

_Oh dear. That’s very good._

Lips closing around the head of his cock, then a slow suction that was knowing and confident, building so carefully that by the time the pressure was hard enough to hurt, Augus was arching up into it, his cock hard underneath his fingers, in Gwyn’s mouth.

Augus’ ass felt empty, even though it wasn’t at all. But he was far enough gone that he wanted Gwyn inside of him, wanted the stretch and even violence of it. Would Gwyn fuck him slowly? It didn’t _matter._

He slipped his thumb into Gwyn’s mouth, massaged his tongue, felt Gwyn’s hum all the way through his hand, even his _cock._

‘Fuck. _Fuck._ Will you hurry up and fuck me again?’

Two orgasms didn’t seem so impossible now.

Gwyn moved back and Augus kept his thumb hooked on Gwyn’s bottom teeth until he had no choice but to let go, until he felt that hard scrape of Gwyn distancing himself, though he still kept his fingers inside of Augus.

‘It’s too soon,’ he said, and Augus despaired of Gwyn dragging it out for hours more, because even Augus didn’t feel like being that patient with himself.

‘It isn’t. I said this was happening fast for me. You’re going to get what you want, Gwyn.’

Gwyn reached for the lubricant, and Augus nearly groaned. He placed a hand on his wrist, shaking his head. ‘There’s enough.’

Augus’ heart picked up in its heavy pounding as Gwyn moved between his legs, slid his fingers free, pushed Augus’ leg aside like he had a right to make those muscles stretch, to open Augus up to whatever he wanted. And Augus had no clue what to expect. He slumped back into the pillows and resisted the urge to press a hand to his chest.

Gwyn breached him slowly, his whole body shaking, but Augus wasn’t faring much better. It hurt more when it wasn’t just a shocking thrust that got everything out of the way at once. An ache that spread through him like waves, a heavier pleasure beyond that, and Augus stared at nothing and felt as though Gwyn had grabbed him and pulled him apart, just to visit this upon him.

He couldn’t stop himself from crying out, moaning, his head thrashing into the other side of the pillow because it was all intense, _too much,_ and Gwyn felt _endless_ when he went this slow, and there was still that part of him that felt it like the violation it was, that felt conquered and defeated and ruined by it despite the perverse pleasure he took in it.

Gwyn bottomed out, pressed his lips to Augus’ cheek and Augus shuddered.

‘Looks like it feels good,’ Gwyn said, grinding deeper until he forced a shout free. ‘Does it?’

‘Smugness…is not an attractive quality in you.’

‘Now that I’ve done it once, I have to do it again.’ Gwyn kissed Augus’ eyelid so gently it seemed impossible. ‘Will I have to tie you up first, every time?’

Gwyn withdrew, pressed back in, even slower than before. Augus couldn’t do anything more than shake and chase the pleasure-pain of it, hand moving on his cock, fingers searching for Gwyn’s hair, his scalp, wanting to share.

_‘Augus,’_ Gwyn said. It took too long to realise that Gwyn meant the touching was _distracting._

Augus turned to Gwyn. ‘It’s too late for you to tie me up again, and you know it. And I’m unexpectedly _close.’_

He undulated his hips up into Gwyn’s cock, chasing his own pleasure, devastating _himself,_ and kept doing it because that was addictive too. He wanted Gwyn to let loose now, or just… _something._ He moaned, licking his way into Gwyn’s mouth, biting at the wound in his lip before withdrawing.

‘You’ve done so well. Look at you. You have no idea…how close I am, do you?’

Gwyn couldn’t know, or this would already be over. Augus reached out and touched him more, delighting in the hardness of his muscles, in the sweat that covered him. It was a miracle he hadn’t come yet. The idea that Gwyn was doing this to please, because he wanted to see if he _could…_

_‘Fuck…’_ Augus breathed. His muscles drawing together, the arches of his feet tightening as his toes curled, a rushing sound in his ears, heat thundering up through him, dragging him down fast.

Gwyn ground into him, his cock churning impossibly deep, and Augus thought he’d choke on it, but instead couldn’t stop himself from laughing breathlessly as his orgasm ripped out of him, come spilling onto his skin, his hips arching up as he cried out a word that might have been a curse, Gwyn’s name, he didn’t know.

Gwyn’s hands pulling him up and close, and Augus didn’t pay attention to that either, the sharpness of his own pleasure stealing his breath. It wasn’t until the knife’s edge of it started to fade that he dimly realised that Gwyn was still hard, hadn’t come. Absurd. And Augus didn’t want to be fucked much past this part, shaking his head and gasping:

‘Gwyn. Gwyn, will you _come_ already? Stop showing off.’

But the flashes of insight came quickly, bubbles bursting one by one in his mind until he realised what had happened – had seen it before, when he’d edged someone far past their normal limits – sometimes, a client just _couldn’t._ It was easy enough to test that theory with someone like Gwyn and he knuckled his fist into Gwyn’s pelvis, just above the root of his cock, feeling the impossible tightness of the muscles there, Gwyn’s lower body in a repressive cramp.

The tension unlocked, Gwyn bucked forwards and Augus grunted, wincing. Seconds later Gwyn collapsed down into him, crying out, and Augus could feel him coming, stroking gently where he’d pushed in hard enough with his fist that it would have been excruciating. Gwyn’s release was violent, and Augus tiredly moved his legs to cradle his hips, pressed his hand into Gwyn’s lower back. Felt…odd and protective and like he was somehow seeing through the end of a scene that he’d not started or controlled at all.

Gwyn’s hair was sweaty as he combed at it, tugging at the curls. Augus supposed that’s what it would feel like if he was a waterhorse, perhaps, and he missed when it was dry. But the curls sprung back at his touch, and he lost himself in them as Gwyn softened slowly inside of him. The aftermath disgusted a lot of people, but he didn’t mind the swampy wetness of sweat and come when he could shower or bathe in a lake at his leisure.

It was as though Gwyn came back to himself all at once, stiffening, going to move away, and Augus wasn’t nearly ready for that yet. His limbs tightened. Gwyn had done whatever he’d set out to do, and Augus wanted this part too.

‘Wait. Will you just wait?’

Gwyn relaxed back into him, heavy and clearly exhausted.

‘Do you know how long you held out?’ Augus purred. He stroked Gwyn’s back languidly, smiling to himself.

_Do you know how long you made yourself try this thing, only because I like it?_

‘Because I was paying attention to the _time.’_

‘You weigh about as much as a mountain,’ Augus teased. A burst of something bright when Gwyn laughed in response.

‘I _just_ tried to get off you, and now you’re complaining about-’

‘Kiss me again,’ Augus demanded, dragging Gwyn’s mouth to his. It was sweet, good, and Gwyn must have been in an unusually good mood, because he laughed again, and it didn’t sound evil at all. Augus thought that might have been a first. In fact he just sounded… _happy._

Augus leaned back, charmed, a little annoyed, somewhat disarmed. Gwyn _smiled_ at him.

‘What?’

_Have you forgotten who you are? Who I am?_ What _I am to you? Are you so lost in your own submission, this moment, that you actually let it go?_

‘Nothing,’ Augus said. Though it wasn’t nothing at all. Eventually, he smiled, because everything about this moment felt _rare_ and he liked it.

Gwyn’s eyes crinkled, his smile broadened at Augus’ smile. He leaned back down, kissed Augus again. ‘I’m good at this,’ he whispered like a secret against sensitive lips.

Augus nodded. Gwyn shifted so that Augus couldn’t see his expression, and Augus couldn’t tell if it was smug or shy.

‘What’s your book about?’ Gwyn said, and Augus blinked. Of all the strange questions to get at a time like now. But that was a point in the column of Gwyn feeling _shy,_ needing to change the subject. Augus tugged on his hair until Gwyn made a dissatisfied sound, and so Augus scratched gently at his scalp as Gwyn sighed into it, let himself enjoy it.

‘Gwyn, I don’t care what my book is about. Kiss me again.’

Closed lips against his, that gentleness that was somehow innate, that left Augus feeling prickly and uncomfortable and softened and hungry all at once. It was so vulnerable that Augus wanted to destroy it, and he pushed at Gwyn automatically, even as he wanted more.

‘All right, get off me, you weigh a ton.’

Gwyn rolled easily with the motion, sliding out of him, and then lay on his side, sated, sleepy. He looked…content. Augus realised he hadn’t seen an expression like that on Gwyn’s face for _years._ Once, at the Wild Hunt, when Gwyn had killed the King of the Forest and then Augus had glimpsed him drinking ale on his own by a pine, with something settled on his face, a wistful smile there. And then before that, after Augus had just about destroyed him to realign him to a new heartsong.

‘You look very pleased with yourself.’

Gwyn yawned, his eyes closed, and Augus resisted the urge to poke him in the neck to see what he’d do.

‘You would be too.’

‘Yes,’ Augus whispered, _sotto voce,_ ‘it is quite an achievement, going from premature ejaculation to joining the ranks of those of us who can last more than a minute, isn’t it?’

Gwyn hit him in the arm for that – a blind thud that had no strength behind it and still hurt – and Augus grabbed his wrist as he withdrew, feeling the muscles tense. He lowered Gwyn’s hand to the bed and dragged his index finger across Gwyn’s palm, tracing the lines there. He did it again, liking the way Gwyn’s fingers curled, like he wanted to hold onto the touch.

‘You should expect retaliation for this afternoon, at some point.’

Gwyn’s eyes opened. A flicker of alarm. ‘Excuse me?’

Augus grinned, the expression growing wicked when Gwyn just closed his eyes, _accepted_ it. He was sure Gwyn felt like he’d won something, but Augus knew he’d won the most from this encounter. Look at this great beast of a King turning himself inside out just to _please_ a captive waterhorse. Yes, that was…well, _lovely._

He moved closer, curling an arm around Gwyn’s back, marvelling even now at the trusting way this…this… _kitten,_ pressed his forehead against Augus’.

He lazily stroked his fingers back and forth as Gwyn’s breathing slowed towards a doze. His eyes glittered as he stared past Gwyn’s head at the room he’d been teleported into. Well, he had no idea how to get back to his rooms from here, but it didn’t much matter. He could stay, he could revel in a triumph that came with so much pleasure, just for a little while.


	2. Rollercoaster (Gwyn POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** From Gwyn’s perspective, this is pretty much just tortureporn. You’ve been warned. Also, Augus is an unreliable goddamn narrator. 
> 
> **New tags include:** Hurt/No Comfort (also known as hurt/hurt). Same tags from the original apply (i.e. sounding). 
> 
> It's been a while since I've done this for Fae Tales, but make sure you take care of yourselves while reading. This is the most straight up rape/noncon scene we've seen in Fae Tales yet, which is kind of saying something. But rest assured, the last chapter in this series is much more feelgood! 
> 
> I always imagined that Gwyn went straight to repression so quickly after this, that by the time we see him again, he's in denial mode about all of it. But you can start to see why Gwyn has such troubles believing that Augus' feelings for him are genuine, especially after this chapter.

_Gwyn_

*

A morning was spent with the members of the Court who purportedly helped to run it. Afterwards, Gwyn felt ready to train until his mind went blessedly blank, so he didn’t have to hear Crielle’s rich voice amongst the others, pretending to assist him, when she only ever turned her mind towards her own machinations.

She’d spent most of the morning interrupting, or choosing precise moments to fall silent, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief, letting only the single diamond glimmer of a tear appear, caring only about how she looked. The other Court members fussed over her while she waved them away appearing stoic and world weary, inspiring them with her strength and the glamour in her voice whenever she felt like it.

She found ways to undermine him throughout, culminating in a brilliant:

‘Our King, my dear son, is obviously so devastated by the loss of Efnisien – like a brother to him, really – that he is making poor decisions for the Court. Darling, let me be a mother to you in your time of crisis, and bear some of your responsibilities. You are stalwart, true, but now isn’t the time. Don’t try to be a paragon, not when we can all see through your actions and words today, how affected you are.’

Gwyn had surrendered nothing at all – no further control – but he’d felt the chilling moment of everyone’s eyes on him, sympathetic and doubting his capacity to lead. Crielle’s lips quirked up just once, for a second, as her azure gaze met his.

‘Of course, mother,’ Gwyn said. ‘You are always so wise in these matters, understanding that a Seelie Court runs on an entire network of skilled people. So to that end, I won’t burden you, as you, too, take on so much. It must be where I inherited the habit. So I’ll seek external hands during this time. Your concern for myself and the Court is so touching, given how distraught you have been throughout this entire meeting. Perhaps you, also, may wish to let others support you for a time. We can lean on each other through this period.’

She hadn’t liked the rejoinder at all, and Gwyn hadn’t lingered after the meeting to listen to her continue to undermine him with anyone who wasn’t a trow.

But he felt low, brought down, and he couldn’t tell if it was dra’ocht invisibly battering at him, or if it was simply what happened whenever he had to listen to her and deal with her constant conniving ways. Training meant an opportunity to feel competent, which was laughable really, because he was not – never had been – a competent Seelie King.

Abruptly he missed touring on war campaigns, sleeping out in the wild, under the hides of animals when there were tents, and stars when there weren’t. He missed encountering different types of fae, different cultures, and mingling with them or fellow soldiers. Missed roaming away from the party before or after battle to learn the lay of the land, to smell pollen or snow or rain or the sere brightness of the sun in his nose as the soil baked.

He entered his room to change into training clothes, turning towards the wardrobe, knew from the scent in the air that Augus was there and tensed, unsure what to expect.

Augus leapt into him bodily, throwing him towards the bed where Gwyn collapsed onto it, landing forwards, arms moving out to catch himself. Augus was clearly using his waterhorse weight for an unfair advantage. Gwyn struggled enough that he began to get the upper hand. The burst of triumph scattered by pain shrieking through his head like a klaxon, Augus’ fingernail digging right into a pressure point that turned his mind to random, fretful noise. He shuddered, limp, unwilling to use true violence against Augus, and unable to concentrate anyway.

‘Do you have anywhere you need to be, for the next few hours?’ Augus sounded seductive, but the pain was anything but. Gwyn jolted when Augus dug his fingernail into another pressure point at his collarbone. At this rate, Gwyn’s entire upper body was going to feel like lancing shafts of pain. ‘I don’t particularly _care_ either way. If you’ve got any engagements later, you’re going to miss them.’

_Of course he doesn’t care._

‘Get off me,’ Gwyn said, squirming, trying to ease the pain Augus caused. He wasn’t in the mood to fuck Augus, wasn’t in the mood to be fucked, didn’t want _any_ of it. Not now. ‘I didn’t agree to this.’

Teeth digging into the side of his face, and Gwyn grunted and twisted sideways on the bed and Augus just followed, using pressure points to keep Gwyn in place. The wet scrape against his skin was insistent, and Gwyn glared up at the ceiling, even as Augus’ teeth became less painful. He sighed, frustrated. Was there any point in resisting this? At the very least, Augus would do a good job of distracting him.

‘I’m tying you up today.’

He had the sense that he was sliding down an embankment, falling into a swamp. Augus was like a spell he couldn’t avoid, even when he wanted to.

‘Take your clothes off,’ Augus said, moving back.

A pause, Gwyn exasperated and agitated and hating himself for agreeing to it as he slid off the bed and stripped through the pain still radiating through his collarbone and through his whole head from what Augus had done.

He wished he knew exactly why he was allowing this, today of all days. Had he earned it? Being hurt, because he’d lied about Efnisien’s murder to his mother? What did it mean, that he was just as poisonous as she was, being the one to half-release his prisoner, raise his status, allow himself to be debased like this?

Gwyn almost laughed to himself. When it happened like this, it was harder to hide from the fact that Augus was clearly enjoying holding power over him, no doubt thinking of the ways he could destroy Gwyn in the future, possibly unaware that Gwyn wanted it.

Augus could say that he wanted to _help_ Gwyn, he was _worried,_ but as Gwyn eased onto the bed at Augus’ order, he knew this was nothing like help. He stared ahead as Augus moved his ankles to the corners of the bed, tying them in place. Then raised his arm, tying his wrist in a secure tie.

At the last tie – when Gwyn realised he was to be tied spread-eagled and at Augus’ mercy – he tensed. Shifted while he contemplated whether he should stop this now. Pulled harder when he realised how solid Augus’ knots were, how strong the rope was. He was certain it wasn’t enchanted, but he wouldn’t use his innate powers to destroy it. Gwyn suspected the bed would break before the ropes did. He frowned, feeling like the worst kind of fool. The one who walked into the trap with his eyes wide open.

Augus straddled him just above the hips, facing Gwyn’s feet, after having reached for something beneath the bed. Then he placed the object – a long wooden box – on Gwyn’s chest like his skin was just a shelf.

It took a moment to recognise it, and Gwyn turned cold and queasy in seconds.

_No._

But why wouldn’t Augus return the favour? There had been no discussion to indicate that this would only ever go one way between them. But Gwyn had just assumed…

Not this. Never this.

A cold chill, as though the temperature around him had changed, his skin feeling iced, and he couldn’t feel the tips of his toes as it became hard to draw a full breath.

‘ _No._ Something else.’

Augus looked at him over his shoulder, insouciant and playful in the face of growing horror.

‘Worried about injury? Even you could manage it well enough, under my guidance. And I’m far, far gentler than you are.’

Gwyn pulled hard against the ropes, hard enough that he expected the frame of the bed to creak, the wood to give. It didn’t. His heart skipped a beat, pounded so heavily he thought that alone would make him sick.

‘I am not interested in this,’ he said, as strongly and firmly as he could.

Augus ignored him. Turned forwards, his palms on Gwyn’s thighs.

_Ignored him._ Or worse, maybe wanted this reaction.

_Wanted_ Gwyn to hate it.

His stomach turned and he sagged back to the bed, overpowered by a momentary weakness that was nothing like him. He wasn’t like this. He was far stronger than this.

_He’s not listening to you. Of course he’s not. He was the Unseelie King who wanted to murder you, and likely, waited for this moment to destroy you now._

His mouth tasted of acid.

He couldn’t do this. Knew this wasn’t like those things Augus brought to his attention that concerned him, scared him, but where he would eventually be won over. This was a wrongness that was so fundamental in the axis of who he was, that just having the sounds near his body made him want to throw up.

‘I didn’t think I was interested either,’ Augus said. ‘I changed my mind. I want to return the favour. You’ll like it. And you forget, I have done this far more times than you, and to far more fae.’

The words made no sense. Gwyn only comprehended Augus’ intention to continue. His soft voice blending into noise that sounded like: _I’m not going to stop._

‘Augus,’ Gwyn said, as earnestly as possible, cursing his voice for never being as expressive as he wanted it to be, cursing himself for this whole situation, which could never be Augus’ fault, because Gwyn was the one who had walked right into it and not left. Not left before the ropes were on him. Not left when Augus had dug into those pressure points. ‘I’m serious. Anything else. Not this.’

The sound of the box being opened, and Gwyn swallowed down a whimper. He strained against the ropes, and then kicked forwards to get more strength into breaking them, and they wouldn’t go. His neck arched back to stare at the knots, his hands and fingers turning white, shaking.

He would need to use his light. He stared up at the ceiling, fraught, because that was a thing he _could not do._

‘ _Augus,’_ Gwyn begged. ‘Augus, I can’t do this today.’

Maybe if he just made it seem like he could do it another time, then-

‘Just today? Why today? Do tell.’

Gwyn didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t have words for the terror in him. Didn’t understand it _himself._ He’d been literally tortured on the battlefield by malicious fae who _fed_ off his pain and he’d still not been as scared.

_‘Any_ day, Augus,’ he said, forgetting his attempt at negotiation. Augus didn’t even hear him. Gwyn said his name several more times, increasingly drastic and frantic, until Augus simply said:

‘Do you not understand how being tied up works?’

This wasn’t something where he would endure and be fine afterwards – a little worse for wear, but ultimately fine. Augus turned to look at him and Gwyn knew this would shatter him. Knew it was what Augus wanted. His begging probably amusing, desperation likely turning Augus on.

Gwyn wanted to be hidden, then. Somewhere dark, invisible, unseen. He felt like he had as a child, unable to get away, unable to escape them. His whole family an inexorable force, like his mother today, trying to erode anything she hadn’t eroded already.

And Augus wanted to take the rest of it.

He couldn’t stop her, but he could at least stop _him._

‘Augus Each Uisge, I formally revoke your status of-’

A hand over his mouth, and then a gag being shoved into it, wrapping around his head before Gwyn could rid himself of it. He stared up, betrayed, so angry at himself that he thought he’d blast himself with his light instead of getting himself free with it.

Augus _laughing_ at him. Augus taunting him. And Gwyn hardly heard any of it. Panicking when Augus turned around again, turned to the sounds and Gwyn’s soft cock and Gwyn bit down hard into the gag and twisted to stare up at the rope around his left wrist.

_You can’t do this. Don’t let him. You can’t- Don’t-_

Struggling again, because his light was forbidden, and then his entire body tensing and the bed didn’t _creak_ and he tried to remember who he’d gotten to make it, had they enchanted the _bed,_ but then why weren’t the ropes breaking? Had Augus gotten enchanted ropes? His eyes were burning.

‘Please don’t insult me,’ Augus said. ‘I know how to tie someone up.’

The slender frigid metal against his cock. His mind went white. A pause where he was already falling off the cliff, thinking it couldn’t get worse. It did. He choked when he felt it pushing in.

A cacophony of noise around him, he felt like he was being yanked by the chest, or tumbling down into a vortex, too many different sensations at once, and all through that something being _pushed_ into his cock and he was somewhere in his past; a memory too dark and too fractured to be anything more than the feeling of his chest and throat turning themselves inside out as he screamed and screamed and screamed in a younger voice, a smaller voice, and they heard him and _they didn’t do anything_ because they wanted him to react like that.

He couldn’t hear himself scream now, but he knew distantly that this was nothing like being tortured during battle, because he’d never been tortured like this before. Oh, they’d hurt him. He’d had his skin flayed, muscles levered out of his body, ligaments cut. He’d had his genitals whipped and snakes forced into his throat. All of it he’d known. Whenever it was too bad, he shut his conscious mind down and disappeared into the dark, let his body deal with whatever it was supposed to be dealing with.

But this…wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t a choice to invert himself and have his mind turned inside out.

As the _thing_ slid further down his cock, _into_ it, he shook uncontrollably. It was familiar, _it was familiar._

Thousands of years between him and something he couldn’t remember even as his body remembered all too well. All the growth and distance he’d put between himself and his family had collapsed down in on itself. He was never going to recover. Never going to be allowed to recover.

Maybe…maybe his suicide attempts had failed because he’d not been thorough enough. Maybe he needed someone like Augus.

Someone who wasn’t going to care when his mind imploded into a keening so bright and strong that Gwyn cried out as much to get away from that as from what was happening to his body.

_It’s not stopping it’s not stopping it’s NOT STOPPING IT’S NOT GOING TO STOP IT’S-_

A spark, a gleam of light in the core of his mind and he realised what he was going to do – felt the catastrophic boom of it scoring out his neck and his stomach – and he folded it in on itself so fast that it was _agony._ He strained at the ropes, sobbing, unable to get away, hearing his parents laughing at him and feeling like his heart had been scooped out of his chest except that would be better, more tolerable. He was crying, and they kept going, and they weren’t going to stop.

It would never stop.

It didn’t matter what happened now. He knew his powerlessness – his impotence in the world – so completely that it didn’t matter if he existed or not. Better to disappear.

It was hard to find it in amongst the panic and the fear. Hard to find that empty space where the terror would become something his body would do, but his mind wouldn’t feel. He reached hard, hoping that at the end of whatever was happening, he’d be dead.

Wishing for it.

Death felt like nothing at all. He knew that. Which meant that if he was dead at the end of it, he’d finally know _mercy._

A quick snap through the centre of him, and his mind blinked out.

*

First, he was aware of the pain in his joints – wrists and ankles – and knew he’d been tortured and was surprised he couldn’t hear healers in the healer’s tents.

Someone was asking if he was hurt. And he was. But he couldn’t move. But then the voice was getting more insistent, because healers always asked inane questions but they were always absurdly specific.

He was Court status. They should know to just leave him alone.

Unless…he needed to battle again?

He felt around in himself in confusion. He was too young to be on a battlefield.

Was it a dream?

‘…Did I actually hurt you? Does this, my hand around you, does this cause you physical pain?’

Why would a healer have hurt him?

Gwyn fumbled around inside of himself, confused. Was it Efnisien?

Why was he so distant from himself?

_Did I actually hurt you?_

Gwyn shook his head.

He was Gwyn. Almost no one could _actually_ hurt him. Only his parents. And Efnisien. And Mafydd. And Mafydd was gone.

The healer was trying to soothe him. Gwyn would try and make sure they were fired. He didn’t need that. He didn’t want it. Something was wrong.

A hand moving on his cock. Gwyn was going to vomit. _Efnisien?_ His cousin had tried it a few times. Except…Gwyn foggily remembered a funeral. _Not Efnisien?_ His throat worked. He was going to- but no, his chest didn’t heave, it didn’t happen. But the queasiness rocked through him. But if someone was jerking him off, then he wasn’t in the healer’s tent. He smelled fresh water and a lake and thought that maybe he was with that waterhorse that he’d defeated. Augus. The one he’d let into his palace.

Except it wasn’t really a palace. He’d ruined it. If they’d make him King, he’d ruin it.

Was that why he felt…?

‘I’m going to stop,’ the voice said – _Augus._ ‘I don’t know who to be more embarrassed for, at the moment.’

Had Gwyn done something wrong? The hand on his cock moved, and Gwyn’s fingers curled and he wondered what he’d done wrong to make Augus sound like that.

He didn’t want anyone to be unhappy with him.

He’d learned a long time ago that he didn’t want anyone to be unhappy with him. They’d come and stripped him from himself, stepped on the scraps of what they’d left behind and he’d still been expected to talk and walk and function like a person when they’d left behind a smear.

But he didn’t want Augus to be…

‘Don’t stop,’ Gwyn rasped, thinking that he must have been tortured for his voice to sound like that.

He would just be still and quiet. Obedient. No one was yelling at him for crying silently, and he was being good enough to make every breath even and steady. But sometimes he wasn’t even allowed to cry.

Eventually, his cock hardened, and Gwyn didn’t want any of it. He felt ill. Felt fragile. Wanted to beg whoever it was – _it’s Augus_ – to stop and just leave him be, to _please_ just leave him alone, to just-

Couldn’t they just-

No.

It was never going to stop. Not when Gwyn asked them not to. He squeezed his eyes shut and more tears trailed down his face and he knew he was no longer a child and wished he’d found a way to end everything _then._

The lubricant on his cock reminded him of _before,_ he gulped down acid, then felt confused as tightness swallowed his cock. First he thought a mouth, and then he realised that Augus was using Gwyn’s cock to fuck himself.

It was an acceptable kind of torture. His body wasn’t clamouring in terror, but perhaps it was because Gwyn already knew there were pieces of himself all around him, and he’d have to find them all and put them back together enough that when he saw Crielle in the Court tomorrow or the next day, he’d have to pretend that she hadn’t annihilated him as a child. He would have to pretend he was a person, and one that didn’t just quail when he saw her.

He just _wished_ that someone could…

Someone could…

If he had the room to himself, maybe he’d just curl into a ball, maybe he’d just cry. He almost never did it. But it had been some time since he’d been made to feel like this. Would it make Augus happy if he did it now? It was what Augus wanted, wasn’t it?

First to torture him.

Then to masturbate himself on Gwyn’s cock.

If Gwyn stretched his mind lengthways, he could almost pretend it was lovemaking.

The bitterness that clouded him then was so strong, so violent, that he almost unleashed his light to make sure that he took out everything else when he took out himself. It wasn’t fair to resent the knowledge that he wasn’t worth it. Not worth gentleness, or things like lovemaking, to have it reinforced in this farce that seemed sweet but was anything but. It wasn’t fair to resent what he deserved anyway. If he resented it, it was a sign he’d failed at accepting his due, a sign that he needed to be punished more until he truly accepted his place in the world.

And if he showed outward signs of his resentment, his parents would…they’d see it, they’d make it worse next time.

Gwyn didn’t know how it could ever be worse. He would be broken for them. It was the easier way to be. He was still in ropes anyway, aside from his one hand, so he’d let them-

_You’re with Augus, not your parents._

Gwyn opened his eyes, moved his forearm back, and looked to make sure. It was Augus, riding him with eyes closed, looking beautiful even if he was just using Gwyn for his own pleasure.

It wasn’t like Gwyn was made for anything else anyway. If he ever expected more, the world would show him how wrong it was to dare.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ Augus said, his voice a mockery of tenderness.

Gwyn swallowed, not quite knowing the right way to respond. Probably there was no right way to respond. He made sure to look at all of Augus, fixing him in his mind’s eye. Augus was beautiful even as a torturer. Gwyn decided he didn’t mind being a kind of toy for him. His cock was going to stay hard now from the stimulation, even though Gwyn didn’t feel all that aroused.

It wasn’t fair that his enemy should look like that. Should be so graceful and charming, and for the _Each Uisge_ no less, who was never known to be either in his previous incarnations. No wonder he was kept in the Raven Prince’s Court. No wonder everyone talked of him the way they did.

But in lieu of literally anyone else to fuck, Augus only had Gwyn, and Gwyn watched and wished he could make it something not ugly for Augus. Something…not just about torture and debasement. Or maybe he could just make Augus like it more.

Could he do that?

‘Untie my other hand,’ Gwyn said.

To his surprise, Augus did it. And Gwyn pressed his hips up carefully, because it seemed like Augus was going to slide off him, because…there was warmth at the base of his spine, in amongst the slimy coldness of the rest of his body.

Augus didn’t seem happy at the state of Gwyn’s wrist, which was confusing.

When Augus leaned back, Gwyn dared to touch him with his other hand. He hadn’t quite realised that he’d reached out already, feeling disjointed from everything around him. But he could feel Augus’ skin beneath his fingertips, and it felt real and it didn’t feel physically painful and that was nice. It was nice, wasn’t it?

He wanted Augus to feel good.

He just wanted someone to be happy with him.

‘Go on,’ Gwyn said, staring at Augus, wondering if this was a fool’s errand.

Augus continued, those slow movements, and Gwyn belatedly realised this was Augus’ preferred speed. So much slower than Gwyn knew anyone could fuck. Gwyn let his attention be taken up by it. Better that than anything else flowing through him.

He pushed up just a little when Augus lowered himself all the way down, surprised when Augus’ head fell forwards, when he exhaled as though he liked it.

_See? Not everything you have to do has to be terrible. You can give him this, can’t you?_

He was momentarily confused at his own thoughts, but didn’t want to understand them, didn’t want to see inside himself.

_Focus on Augus._

‘Keep going,’ he said. Augus nodded.

Gwyn pushed when Augus bottomed out, he dug his fingers in as arousal began to make itself known, and then he’d feel rough and guilty, then dig his fingers in when he forgot himself. Augus seemed to like all of it. At any rate, he wasn’t being mean anymore.

He didn’t know how much time passed before Augus came. It seemed like a long time. Gwyn thought at first that maybe he was just bad at helping, but then realised Augus was dragging it out purely to feel? Just to be sensual? It was bizarre. Gwyn wondered if he could seduce Augus the way Augus seduced himself. Probably not. But it would be good to try one day.

_As though you’ll ever get a chance to touch him again, outside of something like this._

Gwyn’s mind curled in on itself, a small animal cringing away. It was true. And Augus was shuddering through his orgasm and Gwyn heard that voice in his mind silently begging Augus to not start torturing him again.

He wished he couldn’t bear it. Because if he truly couldn’t bear it, he’d be destroyed by it. That would be _relief._

_Please don’t hurt me anymore._

Augus looked down between Gwyn’s legs, and Gwyn felt a wash of iciness through him that made him want to hide. Stupid. Impossible.

‘Should I take care of this for you?’ Augus said, and it took Gwyn far too long to realise that Augus meant his erection. The idea of Augus touching his cock again didn’t fill him with anything good.

‘No, thank you,’ Gwyn said.

_Please stop._

He felt like he’d exposed a nerve just by saying no. What if that meant Augus was more likely to do it now? He didn’t know the right play here. This wasn’t some strategy on a battlefield.

How did the rest of that Court look at him and think he should have the responsibility of Kingship, when he was _this?_

_Pathetic._

Augus slid up and off him, and then untied his ankles, and Gwyn thought then maybe it was over and Augus needed to rest. He did just have an orgasm, after all. And Gwyn’s cock was rapidly softening, and he just wanted to be alone.

Augus crawled up the bed and stared down at him, and Gwyn stared up.

_Please don’t be angry._

‘Get angry, Gwyn. I find this side of you incredibly dull.’

Gwyn didn’t understand, again, until he realised that Augus wanted him to be angry at being tortured. What was the point of that?

He was made to be tortured.

He turned his head to the side. He just wanted to be alone.

‘I tied you up, gagged you when you tried to ‘safeword’ out of it, and then forced a metal rod into your cock and mocked you while you cried. And although all of that sounds like a perfectly reasonable night of fun to me, can we take a moment to enjoy how spectacularly you fell apart? Why aren’t you angry?’

A poke at the side of his neck, and Gwyn’s legs pulled up as his body started curling into itself automatically. He refused to let himself curl up properly. Stayed silent. It seemed like a trick question.

Maybe Augus hadn’t meant to torture him?

_Don’t be ridiculous._

Would it be best if he just went along with it? He didn’t want to get angry. Couldn’t brave being hurt again if he dared. And truthfully, it was hard to feel angry over receiving treatment he deserved in the first place. It wasn’t anger that felt like a cold, endless stalactite dripping through him. Wasn’t anger that felt like he was floating untethered in fog, unable to see signs of anything familiar.

Augus shifted around him, touched his hair, licked the side of his face, and Gwyn closed his eyes and resigned himself to more of before. Hadn’t it started with Augus biting the side of his face?

It wasn’t going to stop.

And his body wouldn’t die from it, no matter how much he wished it would.

He supposed it was Augus’ right. How could he be angry at that?

Eventually, Augus stopped whatever he’d started. He rested his head on the pillow, continuing to touch Gwyn’s hair. Gwyn wondered if Augus would leave him alone if he answered the question.

‘I’m not angry,’ Gwyn said. He kept his eyes closed, even as he could feel Augus looking at him.

‘Why?’

‘You…didn’t know I’d react like that and you couldn’t see me, and so, it’s fine, Augus. You stopped eventually. I’m not angry.’

_Please tell me it’s done now. Please don’t make me even more of a liar than I am._

‘I’m sorry, let me see if I have this straight. _You’re_ telling _me_ that the reason everything is fine, and that you’re not angry, is because I couldn’t see you, as though...somehow...that was not a choice I made and inflicted on you? I know logic has never been a strong point of yours anywhere but on a battlefield, but-’

_I understand. I understand that you tortured me! I know what choices you made and what you inflicted on me. I-_

‘ _Stop it,’_ Gwyn said. ‘Stop, I’m not _angry._ I was...well I’m sure you’ll laugh to hear it, I was just _hurt._ I know full well how pathetic it must seem to you, and I’m sure you can attempt to imagine how pathetic it must seem to _me._ I don’t want to talk about it. I would just rather forget that this afternoon ever happened, thank you.’

There. Now Augus could do whatever he liked. He had enough to destroy him thoroughly. Gwyn almost wished he would. Had to press his lips together to stop himself from begging Augus to finish it properly. If anyone could figure it out, it was Augus. After all, Augus had killed his cousin when he’d been _underfae._ He’d removed the Raven Prince from the throne.

_Please, just kill me._

‘No more sounding,’ Augus said, his voice different, quieter. ‘Ever.’

_He’s lying to you._

Gwyn nodded, pretended it mattered how he reacted.

‘Anything else?’ Augus said.

_Give him whatever he needs to destroy you._

‘Eye contact,’ Gwyn said. ‘I need…that.’

He didn’t even know if he did. But it seemed important. Maybe Augus would enjoy it more if he could watch Gwyn’s face while he twisted the knife in.

‘Anything else?’ Augus said.

_Tell me I did something good. Just one thing. Please._

That last thing he couldn’t give away. Not when Augus had probably worked it out for himself anyway. Like Augus didn’t know how to destroy him, when he’d proven that he could in less than ten minutes.

Gwyn shook his head. It didn’t matter. Augus had it all anyway.

‘I’m going to stay here, if you don’t mind,’ Augus said, sounding strange. ‘You can imagine that me making egregious errors regarding judgement in these matters, doesn’t actually happen to me that often, and I’d like to lie here and absorb the fact of my own mistake about as melodramatically as you insist on lying here and staring up at the ceiling.’

So they were going to pretend it was fine now.

Gwyn gave a small, false smile, too tired to cooperate in any other way. He could at least pretend it was okay. Could pretend that Augus didn’t have all the tools to kill him, even if he was too cruel to do it all at once.

‘I might want to come later,’ Gwyn said.

_Never again._

Augus laughed, and Gwyn’s chest ached.

‘Well, last I checked, I am _your_ prisoner, so I suppose...you shall do with me what you will.’

The insult was too pointed. Gwyn was surprised at Augus’ cruelty, to pretend like he was the powerless one. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The right thing to do would be to go along with it, wouldn’t it?

‘It wasn’t all bad,’ Gwyn said finally. ‘I want to try the slower pace thing that you did. You enjoyed it so much, Augus.’

‘And you like it when I enjoy myself, do you?’

_Is that another thing I’ve given you? Another thing to destroy me with?_

But no, Augus already knew it. Gwyn didn’t bother opening his eyes. Didn’t bother responding. He’d thought he and Augus had something different between them, and he’d been a fool.

*

Augus left hours later, while Gwyn pretended to doze.

Gwyn pushed himself up on sore wrists, watching the closed door as though Augus might return, thinking he should change the permissions to keep Augus out but…deciding not to. Augus could do what he wanted.

He walked into the en suite and turned the taps in the shower to scalding, walked in sticky with his own fear-sweat and Augus riding him and his skin flushed red as soon as the water touched it. He stared down at the tiles, his heart beating even though he wished it wouldn’t.

He’d find the pieces of himself again, put himself back together, even convince himself it was fine. He knew himself. It was reliable. If he wasn’t dead yet, nothing could destroy him.

But he didn’t have the energy to do it now.

He sunk into a crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees and closing his eyes as the water sluiced over his face and dripped off his nose. He shuddered violently, throat filling with bile, holding himself the way no one else ever would, his tears colder than the water pounding over him.


	3. Trade (Augus POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attitude initially – ‘oh this will be much shorter than the original 11,000 word chapter.’ My attitude now – ‘Lies.’

_Augus_

*

Days went by and Augus couldn’t find Gwyn anywhere. He prowled through the inner circles of the Court where he was protected, a mixture of annoyed, agitated. Gwyn was doing something, and Augus could tell he was doing something _foolish._

Anyone who said ‘extend me a measure of trust’ the way Gwyn had? No. Augus wasn’t extending him _any._

Then Augus spent three days annoyed at himself for getting so frustrated about it in the first place, and so he read books, conditioned his hair, made herbal remedies with the tinctures that the trows had fetched for him, and quietly hand-sewed a new shirt that Gwyn would probably rip off him without another thought. He only muttered at himself sometimes.

If he had better control of Gwyn, this wouldn’t be happening.

He could tell the trows were concerned too. That was the worst part. When Gwyn left for battle they hardly seemed to notice. But he saw them milling in Gwyn’s room one day. Another time, he watched as they made what must have been his favourite foods, and he assumed that Gwyn was returning. The next day, they discarded the food. Augus wondered if it was some kind of summoning, or if it was just sheer hope.

It left him uneasy.

He couldn’t hide from his own concern when a week and a half passed. He knew that Gwyn went off to rescue those that needed rescuing. He travelled and explored. But since he’d started visiting Augus, the waterhorse couldn’t recall a time when Gwyn had disappeared like this.

‘Extend me a measure of trust,’ Augus said quietly over his shirt, stabbing the needle into a button hole and wishing it was Gwyn’s skin instead. ‘Shan’t.’

Eventually he retreated to meditation, stilling himself, seeking calm waters within and feeling the turbulence of currents disturbed. He remembered a feeling very like this when Ash had left home the first time, and that had worked out in the end, but this was different. Gwyn was the epitome of self-destruction, and Augus couldn’t bring himself to shove away the instincts that told him that something was wrong.

*

Two weeks had passed since Gwyn left, and Augus was meditating – legs crossed and palms resting on his knees – when he felt a ripple of energy in the inner circles of Gwyn’s Court. A presence. And as no one else could teleport into this space that he knew of, and they hadn’t entered from the outer circles, it had to be Gwyn.

Augus’ eyes flew open. He took two deep breaths and then stood, leaving his room. No point in pretending that he wasn’t worried any longer.

He kept his senses open, frowned when he picked up the scent of blood. In a way, it was almost a relief. Perhaps Gwyn had been away on a long war campaign for two weeks, one he couldn’t talk about. Gwyn was indestructible on the battlefield, and Augus placed a lot of stock in that invincibility. Where Gwyn was more likely to falter in his life, was on personal matters. For some reason, on a battlefield, he became the beast that he couldn’t seem to admit to being.

He realised something was wrong as he neared one of Gwyn’s inner rooms. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and Gwyn hadn’t moved from wherever he’d teleported. Augus could also smell bone, viscera, bile and the other leakings of the body. His stomach rumbled and he ignored it.

If it was two weeks of battle, it was possible that Gwyn had simply been killing so many people he’d had no time to clean.

As he entered the room, the smell became overpowering.

‘Honestly, was your latest battlefield an _abbatoir?_ You positively reek of…’

There, on the floor.

Augus stopped, unable to breathe, heard the sound that Gwyn made. A part of his brain filed away the knowledge that Gwyn was conscious.

It was Gwyn’s blood. His viscera. His bile and his bone shards still stuck to his skin. He was naked. He looked relatively whole, but he’d been at the very least, violently tortured. Augus reached out to place his hand on the doorframe, only to realise he was several steps past it.

If it wasn’t for scent, Augus would never have been able to tell who it was.

Gwyn curled up – or tried to – and then gagged violently, tearing moss up from the ground as he did so, fingers clenching in a spasm. Augus fell to his side, checked his face, his eyes, his shoulder, only lightly making contact each time, suddenly worried that Gwyn was dying, or that…

But he was the King, he was invincible.

Augus couldn’t see well enough to make an assessment, placing his hands on Gwyn’s blood-tacky arms to turn him. He could feel bumps of bone and other gore beneath his palms.

‘Turn over, Gwyn.’

He tried pulling more, ready to brace Gwyn entirely, but instead of cooperating, Gwyn made a thick sound like his throat had been destroyed, and then he coughed violently. Augus saw the mist of blood, swallowing thickly.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do. He listened to the broken wheeze of Gwyn struggling to catch his breath.

Augus had never, in his life, seen Gwyn like this. The only time he’d ever seen fae like this was when he’d been about to kill them back when he was Unseelie King, or when he eliminated a waterhorse from his territory. These were sounds he was used to hearing from _prey._

‘By the gods,’ he whispered to himself.

He felt Gwyn’s heartbeat through his back, pressing his lips together. His heart was beating unsteadily. It wasn’t a strong beat. But it didn’t feel like it was failing.

‘Can you talk?’ Augus demanded.

Nothing.

Augus grit his teeth and tried to pull Gwyn onto his back to check if there were any wounds on his torso that he couldn’t see properly.

‘I want to check how bad you are. Gwyn, _who-?_ ’

_Who_ could do this? Augus growled shortly, frustrated, wishing he had some way to summon the trows. He pushed one hand to Gwyn’s lower back, supporting him, and then pulled Gwyn until he gasped and followed the movement. Augus felt straight away the feeling of bones shifting beneath skin, his own breathing shallow as he refused to stop now. Gwyn _would_ heal from the breaks, but Augus would speed up that healing however he could, and to do that, he needed to assess.

Augus shifted quickly when he _heard_ the creaking of bones beneath Gwyn’s skin, shoving his knees beneath Gwyn’s back so that Gwyn wouldn’t have to lie unsupported. His spine wasn’t right. Nothing was right.

‘Stop. That’s enough,’ Augus said, even though it was clear that Gwyn didn’t want to keep moving. He lifted Gwyn’s hands from his ribs and stared at the lumpy mess of closed over skin, and the multiple layers of blood and gore over that, one bone sticking up through his skin. A streak of greenish yellow had dried over his hip bone. At some point his organs had been ruptured. Augus was certain his spine had been broken. His ribs were still broken, pulping underneath Gwyn’s skin until the muscular definition showed only sickening unevenness instead. Bumps where there shouldn’t be bumps. Divots where there shouldn’t be divots.

Augus distantly heard himself swearing, knew he was afraid, and stared down, venting whatever it was out of his system as he held Gwyn’s wrist in his hand, his own body now already tacky with the same blood. Some of it dried black and brown. Some of it wet and fresh. Gwyn smelled of jungles and damp, humid places.

Worse, every time Augus did something, moved, shifted, even took a deeper breath, Gwyn flinched.

_He’s been tortured badly._

The wheezing breaths became shakier, and Augus realised that the strain of simply shifting him and looking at the wounds had been too much. The idea of losing Gwyn before he could get helpful information from him – who had done this, what injuries needed treatment, what to triage, how to help – was abruptly terrifying.

‘Don’t you dare fall unconscious. Gwyn, _don’t,_ just stay with me a little longer, just stay…’

Gwyn went limp, where before he’d been tense.

_Well, just_ telling _him to stay conscious wasn’t likely to have done the trick anyway._

At once, Augus rolled him properly to his back, laying Gwyn’s arms by his side. He straightened his legs, and then began running his hands over him, feeling for the breaks – far too many – and the damage. He thought of what he’d give to a King who needed emergency healing, in the absence of an actual healer.

First, he needed to get Gwyn to a lake, and get him clean. He needed to see the damage properly.

Augus scraped his teeth over his lower lip and then lifted an unresponsive Gwyn into his arms, needing to call his waterhorse strength to do it. He wasn’t at his best, either, and he grunted as he picked up Gwyn’s awkwardly sized body, one arm beneath his shoulders and the other beneath his knees.

And then came the navigating through the hallways and rooms themselves, careful not to knock Gwyn’s head – or any other part of him – and afraid that he would wake up and begin screaming. Except that Gwyn hadn’t screamed at all. Augus didn’t want to think about how much pain he was in, how stoic he had been through torture, or _why_ he had been tortured. It occurred to Augus that he’d need to check for signs of rape, and his heart sank at the idea of it. Of all the things Gwyn carried with him, sexual trauma didn’t seem to be one of them, and Augus didn’t want it to be yet one more thing added into the mix of Gwyn’s many issues.

Once at the lake, Augus was able to summon the trows. Or, more accurately, one ran by and then ran backwards, stopping in the doorway and staring at them both.

‘He’s been injured,’ Augus said quickly, supporting Gwyn’s body in the lake and carefully washing him. He’d already pushed one of his ribs back into place, and a second metatarsal that he hadn’t noticed at first. ‘Are there any healers you would trust with him like this?’

The trow shook his head, running into the room quickly, eyes widening even more. Augus was surprised to hear there was no healer that the trow would trust.

‘Does he have healing tinctures?’ Augus said.

The trow nodded, ears flapping, fingers covering his mouth.

‘Then _get them,’_ Augus said, unable to help the frustrated compulsion. The trow stared at him with surprise, and then vanished, having teleported away.

The trow returned ten minutes later with a box of tinctures, and then vanished once more, returning with – of all things – cleansing soap and, from the smell of it, lotions that would help remove rot and bacteria. It wouldn’t matter greatly, Gwyn ultimately couldn’t be killed by those things, but it might speed healing along.

‘Gramercie,’ Augus said absently, reaching for the soap while he looked over the tinctures. ‘I need you to go to my rooms and fetch three tinctures. One is coloured golden, and the other two are pale green. Damn it, I’ll also need to make… I have a box full of dried and fresh herbs, and I’m going to need…’

Augus carefully ran the lather he’d made on his palms over Gwyn’s face, watching the crusted blood begin to break down. Beneath it, lacerations and bruises, and Augus wondered at the fact that Gwyn wasn’t conscious yet. Augus didn’t think he was at risk of dying, but perhaps as close as a King could get…

Any other fae, regardless of the status, surely they would have died.

Augus forgot that the trow was even there until he came closer and peered at Augus curiously.

‘There’s herbs I want but don’t have, but they _cost,’_ Augus said warningly. He didn’t know why he cared, and judging from the trow’s response, it didn’t matter. ‘All right. Silver pigwort, _fresh,_ I’ll need two large bunches. As soon as you get it, clean it and dump it into ice water whole, roots and all, and let me know once you have please. I also want ragged boneset and – damn, I think it’s out of season – see if you can find _Cryptolepis_ – Banglong _,_ you won’t find it in the Northern Hemisphere, and golden Harjor and then also Nagkesar, the red variety. If they sell it to you for less than ten thousand clipaks a stem, it’s not legitimate. If it is anything other than ruby red, it is counterfeit.’

The trow nodded, and Augus held up a bloodied, soapy hand.

‘I need some of the others too,’ Augus said. ‘He’ll need calories and fluids. He’ll heal regardless, but I’m certain I can speed the process up.’

The trow nodded again, then bowed to Augus more deeply than usual, and spun on one foot, vanishing again.

‘What a time to gain more respect from your servants, hm?’ Augus said to Gwyn, and then sighed, focusing on getting him clean. It was – he could tell – going to take _hours._

*

The list of tasks stacked one on top of the other, but Augus worked quietly and methodically, simultaneously relieved and unhappy that Gwyn hadn’t yet roused. Occasionally it looked like he might, but his body was so focused on healing, was so depleted of life energy, that wakefulness was beyond him. So Augus washed his hair four times, tended his wounds, looked for rectal bleeding and upon finding some, probed deeper until he realised it was from internal injuries and not from a violent rape. Small mercies, but perhaps rape had happened earlier, and Gwyn had healed from it.

Augus carried Gwyn back to his bedroom, laying him down carefully, before setting up a makeshift brewing station in the room adjacent, the trows bringing him everything they needed.

‘Are you certain there’s no healer you trust with him?’

They shook their heads at him, and Augus stood over a bunsen burner with his tools and the scent of fresh medicinal herbs, and wondered if they were instructed to never bring healers to Gwyn, or if Gwyn simply trusted _no one_ with his own health.

Augus knew it was likely the latter. It tracked with what he knew of him, after all.

When the trows brought him a wicker basket of confectionary, including a sugar bowl filled with sugar cubes, Augus stared in confusion.

‘I don’t eat this,’ he said. ‘You know th-’

He’d realised, even as they pointed through the wall, towards their King.

_‘Sugar?’_ Augus said.

He took the basket and looked through it, and realised that he saw many of these items frequently in the Seelie Court kitchens. He’d not thought much of it, but it must have all been for Gwyn.

‘This?’ Augus said. ‘This is what he prefers?’

The trows nodded, and Augus sighed. It would get calories into him faster than protein, certainly, but… _sugar._ Augus picked up a packet of barley sugar, turning the hard pieces of rock candy within the plastic. This had been acquired quickly from the human world. It even had a plastic label on it. His eyebrows lifted, he sighed, he went back to work.

*

The first time Gwyn woke, Augus was there, hearing the shifting in his breathing. A wheeze still in his lungs, Augus wanted to make him drink some healing tinctures and liquors, but was reluctant to force them down his throat while he was unconscious. His lungs were damaged enough, better he not aspirate bitter herbs too.

Augus leaned forwards, touching Gwyn’s shoulder, feeling the flinch, and the secondary motion that was Gwyn apparently being angry at himself for flinching.

‘Sweetness, I need you to drink this, it will help. It will taste foul, but given you seem to be oozing blood from your mouth at odd intervals, I’m sure you’ll manage.’

Augus stood over him, the glass waiting nearby, carefully shifting his hand over Gwyn’s shoulder and neck until he could lift his head. Gwyn’s breath strangled at the movement, and Augus knew there were fractures that must have been agonising, but Augus could help _all_ of it if he could get Gwyn to _drink._ He was sympathetic, but not merciful, he didn’t move his hand away.

‘Drink,’ Augus said.

Gwyn’s mouth opened only a tiny amount as Augus pressed the rim of the glass to his mouth. The very first mouthful was sprayed out with blood, and Augus looked down at the mist of red on his hand and forearm, that now covered the sheets. It wouldn’t matter, they’d have to be stripped and changed soon anyway. Augus’ thumb came and smeared some of the blood away from the corner of Gwyn’s mouth.

_‘Lovely,’_ Augus muttered. ‘Try again.’

He breathed easier seeing Gwyn get down a full glass, knowing that Gwyn’s tastebuds would loathe the stuff. But at the second glass – Augus knowing he was reaching – Gwyn vocally and physically protested, and Augus’ sympathy became something very like pity. But he had to try.

‘One more, that’s all.’

It didn’t take long for Gwyn to reject it entirely, the bitterness too much for him. Augus quickly put the glass down, worried that Gwyn would fall unconscious again. But even as he helped lower Gwyn back down to the bed, he realised he was losing him.

‘You did very well,’ Augus said gently, feeling something huge threatening at the edges of him. Something huge and painful, that he didn’t want to look at or touch.

He checked Gwyn’s pulse, found it thready and uncertain as he settled Gwyn properly onto pillows. He didn’t think it was a reaction to the herbs, possibly the pain alone, the strain of wakefulness.

Augus couldn’t imagine what was so bad that Gwyn might be reduced to this, but he knew that Gwyn had sought it out. He knew that Gwyn had known in advance that he was approaching something like this, and he’d concealed it from Augus.

He _knew_ how Augus would react.

He checked Gwyn’s heartbeat, a reminder for himself as much as it was to check on Gwyn.

‘I will _murder_ you for this,’ Augus hissed, but Gwyn was already unconscious, and Augus’ claws curled down into Gwyn’s naked chest until he made himself stop.

He sagged back into the chair that the trows had provided for him, and rested his cheek on his curled fingers. He was tired. He needed to clean and bathe himself. He was worried. He’d changed so much since becoming a prisoner in the Seelie Court, but he didn’t like how this moment crystallised it, made it real. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so concerned for someone other than Ash before, and he didn’t like it.

*

After a long shower – Augus availing himself to Gwyn’s bathroom and finding it woefully understocked of anything except for a scratchy soap that seemed to only exist to strip layers off skin – he returned to his vigil.

At one point, hours later, Gwyn emerged in the thick of some nightmare or flashback, thrashing wildly and then shrieking at the pain. Augus, alarmed, had held him down with waterhorse strength and tried to calm him, and then:

_‘Calm, calm down, Gwyn. It’s all right.’_

The compulsion had slipped out of him, and Gwyn had sagged back to the bed instantly, leaving Augus wide-eyed and staring.

Had the compulsions _worked?_

He was unable to relax for a good hour after that, disturbed. Whatever had happened, whatever torture he’d undergone, it had ruined the barrier that Gwyn had against Augus’ compulsions. Which meant Augus could get him to do anything he wanted. He could compel Gwyn to release him. He could compel Gwyn to injure or harm or possibly even kill himself. And Gwyn was so weak, so fragile, that he could not stop Augus from doing whatever he wanted.

‘He cannot stop me anyway,’ Augus said, fingers on the armrests and furious that Gwyn had put himself in this position in the first place.

Then he listened to the fresh wheezes in Gwyn’s healing lungs and closed his eyes, sagging back and thinking that he could use the compulsions to help, next time, and he _would._

*

Gwyn _was_ healing. The medicine had helped, his breathing was deepening, the wheezing was fainter. Augus was used to smoothing his hand down Gwyn’s ribs to feel the way the bones were finally settling and healing properly. His organs were still not fully back on deck, and Augus could feel no attempts at digestion in his gut, but then it was possible Gwyn hadn’t eaten for some time. He needed _energy,_ and soon, or his ability to heal would be compromised.

Augus waited for him to find consciousness again, tapping his finger rhythmically on the armrest. He would do just about anything to stop this from happening again. He was surprised at himself, surprised at the depth of emotion, knowing it went far deeper than he understood. An endless well within him.

*

Gwyn roused again the next day, and Augus was there, pressing him, feeling cruel for doing it.

‘Can you talk?’ A motion that looked like a ‘no.’ Which was lucidity at least. ‘Try, Gwyn.’

_‘No,’_ Gwyn rasped.

Augus sat on the edge of the bed, more relieved at the stubbornness than he was at the consciousness. Gwyn still flinched from him. Augus didn’t think he knew he was doing it.

‘Good, Gwyn. Very good, sweetness. Listen to me carefully. I checked you over while you were unconscious. You are healing, but slowly. You’re in a bad way. I want to use my compulsions on you to help you feel better. Do you understand? I know you might not want me to, but it will help.’

Gwyn shaking his head, and Augus touched his hair and realised it had matted through with sweat, sighing. Gwyn’s hair was nothing like his, it felted so quickly.

_‘Good,’_ Augus said. A test. Gwyn sagged back into the bed, his face smoothed of lines, even his legs relaxed. Augus was stunned. He hadn’t even told him to relax, only told him that he was doing well. Augus briefly wondered if Gwyn would be susceptible to compulsions forever, marvelled at what he could do with that, and then dismissed it. A Gwyn susceptible to compulsions was a less invincible Gwyn, and he wasn’t interested beyond the daydream of it.

‘How well you’re doing. You couldn’t stop me even if you wanted to, could you? At least I know how much damage has to be done to you for the compulsions to work without you willing it. I suppose this counts as research, for me.’

Gwyn attempted to curl up, and Augus watched as his shaking arm reached out and patted around, only stopping when it touched Augus’ thigh. He stared down at the trembling hand and felt some pang in his chest.

‘Gwyn, _there’s less pain.’_

A raw sound of relief, the shaking lessening, and Augus closed his eyes briefly. It hadn’t helped the pang in his chest at all, but at least the compulsion had helped Gwyn. He reached out and found himself uselessly tracing Gwyn’s face, he had no medical reason, he just wanted to touch him. His cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his eyebrows, the stern downturn of his lips. Gwyn turned his head towards the touch, seeking it, and Augus wanted to lie upon him and give him so much that he couldn’t handle it. And then more besides. Until Gwyn knew nothing else.

Instead he rested his palm to Gwyn’s warm cheek, feeling the benediction of those warm, even breaths against his inner wrist.

_‘You’re doing so well.’_

It was like Gwyn couldn’t contain it, the praise of it, a thick moan bursting from the back of his throat, sluggish tears emerging from his eyes. Augus stared in wonderment.

‘I should have done this a long time ago. Just look at you. But first things first. I am going to ask you some questions, do you understand? I am going to compel you to answer them. It may be uncomfortable. Try not to resist.’

‘Augus…’ Gwyn said, resisting.

‘I know,’ Augus said. Then: _‘Who did this to you?’_

He was surprised that Gwyn even _attempted_ to resist the compulsion, and the pang in his chest became frustration. No. Gwyn didn’t get to go out there and do this to himself, only to fight back _now._ As though _this_ was the fight he was supposed to win. And with the resistance Gwyn had brought all the pain back, and Augus watched in dissatisfaction.

‘Stop resisting me, Gwyn, please. Just answer. I have to know. If you think you can turn up in your own quarters, looking like this, and expect me to leave it be…’ A wave of rage that he couldn’t stop. _‘Tell me.’_

A hard flinch from Gwyn, a single word: ‘Tigbalan.’

The horse shifter. The cruel and brutal horse shifter who fed upon _violence._ So Gwyn _had_ been tortured. It was nothing like a battle at all. To cover his horror, he reached for the first thing he could think of.

‘If I’d known you wanted to scene with another horse fae, I could have organised that for you.’

Gwyn cringed, and Augus touched his temple and wished he had all the answers now, instead of having to piece them together like this.

_‘Relax.’_

‘Don’t ask me why,’ Gwyn said, as soon as the tension in his body unlocked. ‘Don’t, please. I’ll tell you. It has to wait. I was doing something. I’ll tell you.’

‘It has to wait…you were _doing something?’_ Augus was outraged. ‘Fine. You will tell me later. _How long did he hurt you for?’_

‘How long was I gone?’ The answer came so quickly Augus realised that Gwyn had no concept of how long he’d been hurt for. It was striking. Gwyn had lost track of time completely.

‘Two weeks,’ Augus said.

‘Two weeks,’ Gwyn said, and for a moment Augus thought it Gwyn was repeating the time like he hadn’t known he’d been gone that long.

Then he realised it was an answer.

‘Two…’ Augus needed a breath, having to reconsider everything he’d imagined. Not just days of healing and re-healing, but _two weeks._ He had to be sure. ‘Two _weeks? Like this?’_

Gwyn nodded, the answer to the compulsion coming automatically. So he’d left two weeks ago, and obviously intended for it, since surely in the beginning, he could have teleported away? He was _doing something._ Augus wanted so badly to rip the answers from him, so he could find them all inadequate and punish Gwyn later.

_For something he’s certainly been punished enough for already._

‘Now I know why you are not healing, at least.’

‘I’m…healing,’ Gwyn said.

Augus scoffed. ‘Like a King? Please. More like underfae. Something tells me I’m going to be furious when I find out your reasons for this, since I’m halfway there right now.’

He was shocked when Gwyn reacted visibly to Augus’ displeasure. He felt like he’d chided a child who couldn’t take more than he’d already taken, and clucked his tongue between his teeth, frustrated, trying to offer comfort by touching his face.

‘Sweetness, my dear h-’

_My dear heart._

Augus paused. Needed a moment. All right, so that was something he wanted to do, apparently. Something he wanted to _say._

Augus bowed his head, forced himself to focus. His eyes burned.

‘Sweetness, be calm. Be easy. You need sleep, Gwyn. We need to talk about this, but you need to heal more. Do you understand? I’m going to compel you to sleep.’

‘No, I don’t w-’

A band snapped inside of him. The fury took over, held at bay for too long.

‘I don’t give a damn _what_ you want. You accepted this, I can _tell!_ I can tell, because you would have teleported out of there as soon as you’d had enough, otherwise. You let some fae who you hardly know…’ He dug his claws into Gwyn’s shoulder, felt the flinch, even _wanted_ it, but instead of weathering it like he normally did, Gwyn panicked.

Augus watched in horror as he descended into a panic attack, his chest seizing, his hands lifting like he wanted to claw at his sternum. Augus let go of his shoulder and then touched his cheek, aghast.

‘Gwyn, what-? Gwyn, _relax.’_

The compulsion hit him hard, and Augus’ own breaths were tight in his chest as Gwyn relaxed back into the bed. His eyelids fluttered. For a moment he thought he’d driven Gwyn to unconsciousness again.

‘Nothing can happen like this,’ Augus said, more to himself than to Gwyn. _You can’t argue with him about anything, idiot. Wait._ ‘You must sleep. Your body needs to recover. I think your spine was broken.’

Gwyn, bizarrely, _laughed._ ‘More than once.’

_More than once._

‘More than…’

Augus tried to imagine it, found he didn’t want to. It took most fae _time_ to recover from an injury like that, weeks, months. Lower class fae died from it. Some upper class fae _still_ died from it if their spine was severed enough.

Gwyn had weathered it more than once in a fourteen day period along with everything else, still lived to tell the tale. Had he wished for death? Had he wished for an end to the torture, without _leaving it?_

‘Let your body rest,’ Augus said, furious. Even as Gwyn tensed again, Augus yanked spitefully at his hair. _‘Sleep.’_

Gwyn slumped down, and Augus turned away from Gwyn and _roared,_ then left the room and found another he could tear apart.

*

Gwyn slept for a long time. Whatever Augus had pushed him into, it seemed to be restorative, and while Augus felt his own peace of mind dwindling, Gwyn seemed to be truly recovering. The trows were obviously relieved, and constantly brought Augus just about every salad he’d taught them how to make.

‘I can’t eat this all on my own,’ Augus said one day. ‘Here, have some.’

The trow had picked up one of the leaves, chewed on it slowly, and then her face screwed up and she ran off like Augus had punished her, and Augus remembered that just about _no one_ liked some of the things he did. He sighed and picked at the rest of the salad, and wondered if he was the kind of waterhorse to apologise, or the kind of waterhorse to ignore it.

But he never saw her again, and eventually he passed on an apology to one of the other trows and was glad that they would tell no other fae except their own and Gwyn wasn’t awake to hear it. He could almost imagine Ash clapping him on the shoulder and saying something inane like: ‘Good work, bro.’

But it hurt to think of that too, and that was how he found himself close to midnight sitting on Gwyn’s bed and pressing his fingers into his eyes, and laughing at himself for crying over absurd things.

*

Two days later, and Augus wondered if the Seelie Court even _needed_ a King, or if they really were used to Gwyn being like this. How did he defeat _anyone?_ He was never available!

Although Augus could see Gwyn as much as he wanted, he wasn’t a very adequate conversation partner.

When Augus entered the room, Gwyn was shaking, and he was awake, and he flinched when he saw Augus enter, and he flinched again when Augus threw the bag of barley sugar onto his lap. Then he saw what it was and his mouth dropped open.

_Yes. Eat it, you fool._

Gwyn’s hair looked much better at least. Augus had brushed it after washing it again, and then watched it carefully to make sure it didn’t matt. It found its ridiculous curl naturally. Augus washed his face and body again, slipped him into a tunic, and replaced all the blankets and the sheets and the quilt, and not only the pillowcases, but asked for new pillows.

Augus sat down in a chair he moved closer to Gwyn’s side, annoyed, tired, a part of him wanting to kick the affection he felt at Gwyn being awake into the following year.

He was incredulous when Gwyn threw the blankets to the side like he was going to _get up._

‘I swear, Gwyn, if you get up and leave, I’m not going to hold myself accountable for what I do next.’

Gwyn paused, one leg already thrown over the side of the bed. He stared at Augus as though checking he was sincere. All Augus could think was that if Gwyn didn’t get himself murdered, Augus would do it for him, and at this point he’d be _happy_ to kill him. He folded his arms, stared back.

It was almost amusing to watch Gwyn gingerly get back onto the bed, and then pull the blankets back over himself. Augus leaned in, still unhappy.

‘What would possess you to go and get yourself beaten to within an inch of your life by one of the ugliest horse fae on the planet? I want some answers. I might not be able to compel them out of you as easily now, but I have other methods, and I _will_ use them. You seem to care so little about your body anyway, it wouldn’t matter _what_ I did to you, would it?’

Gwyn cleared his throat, closed his eyes.

_Well,_ Augus thought, _try and weasel your way out of this lecture with another panic attack. Go on. I dare you._

‘It was on the matter of your release,’ Gwyn said finally.

Augus felt like none of the sentence made sense. He took a quick breath, confused.

‘I’m sorry? I seem to have misheard you. My _release?_ As in, my release from _what,_ exactly?’

‘Captivity.’ Augus stared at him, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he felt off-centre. ‘I have been thinking about the problem of what you will do, if you are ever released. Your life will be in real danger and… I remembered once that the Raven Prince had added a broad-spectrum shapeshifting ability to his entourage of powers by trading for it. He hardly used it once he received it, preferring raven form, but he had it, nonetheless. I set about making a list of fae whom could trade a certain quality of power I was looking for.’

Augus’ entire body was covered in gooseflesh. He’d had no idea that Gwyn was thinking about releasing him, or at least, not seriously enough that he’d developed a _strategy_ for it, and was acting on that strategy. He wanted to go away and take time to process it, wanted several days to think it over, instead, he was left imagining why Tigbalan? What powers would Gwyn ask for, from _Tigbalan?_

‘Tigbalan,’ he said thoughtfully, and then realised at once. ‘You _didn’t.’_

‘Invisibility is a rare power,’ Gwyn said, confirming it. ‘Rarer still to be offered to another fae. And then to be offered to one who is already powerful? There were very few fae I could approach for this.’

Augus stood, kicking back the chair and stared down at Gwyn, the wonder vanishing between a thick anger that was eating the inside of him. Gwyn stared placidly back up again, then looked at his hands. Which were shaking.

Augus wanted, in that moment, to kill him.

‘He didn’t want land, or wealth, or an invite into the Unseelie Court – which you _know_ I can organise, now that I have Gulvi eating out of the palm of my hand. I have an unprecedented ability to get what I want, from whomever I want, since the change in Court politics. Unseelie or Seelie.’

‘Excellent, that’s wonderful news.’ _I’m going to kill him._ ‘And, as you said, he didn’t want any of that, did he?’

‘You can guess the rest,’ Gwyn said, like he was calmly discussing the outcome of battle manoeuvres with another general. ‘I was there for two weeks. He did what he did. I came back. I have the power. I would like to wait until I’m better before I give it to you.’

Augus knew he couldn’t die from an aneurysm. He knew also that if he tore into Gwyn with his claws now, it would probably have negative consequences for their relationship. And he felt dizzy from trying to comprehend it all. The generosity was _nauseating._

‘You’re not planning on keeping it for yourself?’ Augus said.

_At least keep it for yourself, you fucking fool._

‘What would I do with it? I don’t need it. I didn’t get it for me, and I don’t want it now.’

‘Oh,’ Augus breathed, turning from Gwyn, knowing that he couldn’t get the anger under control at all now. ‘ _Oh, you stupid, idiotic…’_

Augus’ sights focused on the heavy wooden workbench and table nailed into the wall. He grasped it with his hands, his waterhorse strength coming automatically, and he stared down at it, fingers splintering the wood. Then he ripped it all directly out of the wall, pulling chunks of masonry with it. The heavy piece of furniture that had wrapped around two walls fell, the sound of crashing items within, the smell of ink. Augus breathed heavily, still holding two pieces of wood in his hands. He dropped them.

‘I hope you can replace that,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s an antique.’

Augus turned to Gwyn, staring at him, breathing hard, and then he walked over. Gwyn seemed to come to his senses, rearing away, but it was easy to reach out and grab him by the hair, dragging his head back with a cruel hand. He bared his sharpened teeth, ignored Gwyn’s flinches, no – _wanted_ them. Augus hissed, fingers tightening.

‘Normally, I would be quite charmed at the fact that you were managing something like _flippancy_ right now, even though you are clearly still broken beyond mention and flinching at sounds in your _sleep._ But it is _not_ charming, and you are a _fool._ If you expected my gratitude, you _don’t_ have it. If you… You are never, ever, _ever,_ to do something like that again. _Ever._ You clear it with me. You cannot be _trusted._ You will not even preserve your own physical integrity, I can’t-’

‘I couldn’t have died.’

‘ _Yes!_ You _could_ have! And it is not as though the worst thing in the world is _death!_ You stupid, naïve, boorish, impossible, ungrateful, ri-’

‘Were you worried about me?’

The words were delivered so mildly, Augus for a moment felt _mocked_ by it. He stared in disbelief.

‘Was I _worried_ about you,’ Augus repeated. ‘You… What do you think we’ve been _doing_ over the past two months?’

_He doesn’t see it. He hasn’t seen it. He hasn’t seen it at all, not once. Not after everything you’ve done for him. All of it, wasted._

Augus let go of his hair, dragged fingers through his own instead, not caring that he was too rough, that he snagged waterweed and mane at once.

_He still thinks no one cares for him._

Augus shook his head, unable to understand.

_He still thinks this is nothing. Or worse…manipulation?_

‘ _This_ is obviously why you thought it was okay to do this. What is _wrong_ with you?’ Augus said, and then held up a hand. ‘No, don’t tell me. I can _guess._ We’ve been up and down the garden path of your atrocious, dismal childhood, and I don’t need you to say a _thing._ You are _useless,_ Gwyn ap Nudd.’

Gwyn reacted then, like a _child._ His legs bent, knees drawing closer to his chest. He wrapped an arm around his chest. He looked put out, as Augus thought about all the emotion and _effort_ and everything else that had happened for days, weeks, _months._

‘Do you think I haven’t had opportunities to see myself released, many times over?’ Augus explained, eyebrows pulling together. ‘Do you think I haven’t seen pathways through the cracked, miserable shell of your inner walls, that I don’t know how to _use_ you?’ That I couldn’t have _made_ you get me this power if I wanted it? Of course I want to not be captive, but this situation has gotten laughably complicated in quite a short space of time, and you…’

Augus laughed, and then had to stop, because Gwyn didn’t understand, and Augus could save his hysterics for later.

‘Oh, I know, I have given you no reasons to trust me and I don’t think you _should,_ because I know what I am and I wouldn’t tell anyone – except _Ash_ – to trust me. But-’

Gwyn’s blank face. His disbelief. His inability to process any of it. Nothing Augus was saying was reaching him. It all floated somewhere above him, and Augus knew he’d need years, _years,_ to reach him with this. He knew.

_Don’t you know how broken he is?_

His chest hurt. He closed his mouth, his jaw worked and then he looked down at the ground, splinters of wood by his shoes.

‘I can’t talk to you about this. You can’t hear me. You _can’t.’_

_It’s not fair to do this to you._

Gwyn picked at the blanket like a child waiting for judgement. Augus felt so tired. _So_ tired. He wanted so badly to have the power to kick Gwyn out after a weekend, tell him that he was done, and someone else could deal with the rest of his baggage.

But he’d done it once before – Gwyn turning up on his doorstep when he’d been a different waterhorse – and he still ended up back here, volunteering himself for that baggage for months on end, like a project to help him handle captivity more adeptly.

It had become so much more than that.

‘Why haven’t you asked for your power yet?’ Gwyn said.

‘You don’t hear anything I say, do you?’ Augus said, laughing tiredly. ‘It just goes in one ear and out the other. You are…’

_Unbelievable. Does nothing I say get through to you?_

He got onto the bed fluidly, moving the blankets and crowding Gwyn, glaring at him, bloodlust surging where exhaustion had been seconds before.

‘Look, you’re _still_ flinching. That’s a good look for you, Gwyn. Tsk tsk. I’m sure that’s going to give each and every one of your Seelie Court a great deal of confidence in you. And this?’

Augus shoved his hand down onto Gwyn’s ribs, gouging at tender and still-healing bones, and that got an _instant_ reaction. Augus watched Gwyn’s face as he felt Gwyn struggling to remove Augus’ wrist. Gwyn. Struggling to remove the wrist of a lower class fae. Gwyn who was supposed to be invincible until he’d gone and done this to himself. Augus leaned down harder into Gwyn’s chest, and watched as his cheeks splotched, his lips turned pale.

‘ _This_ is not better yet, not properly healed, because you traded your energy, your _integrity,_ for a power that you’re not even going to use. You’re just going to give it away. _Stop fighting me, damn it!’_

To his shock, Gwyn sagged backwards, looking as shocked as Augus felt. They stared at each other. How long would it take for the compulsions to stop working again? Augus had assumed the barriers would be back up by now. Was Gwyn that fragile still? Augus looked down at the heel of his hand he was grinding into Gwyn’s ribs. He lifted it, only slightly.

‘Fight however much you want,’ Augus said, the words undoing the compulsion. ‘All of this…I can just imagine you, stoically telling yourself that it was worth it. We waterhorses, we stick together. We know of each other’s reputations, each other’s methods. It’s the way we are. A close bunch. I know of Tigbalan. I haven’t met him, but I know of him. I know that once he starts, he doesn’t stop until he’s sated. I know it can take days. He feeds off violence the way I feed off people. You were just _food_ to him, and he probably had the best meal he’s _ever_ had, beating on a King that just _let_ him. You make me _sick,_ honestly, just looking at you.’

_That_ reached him. Gwyn jerked back.

‘It was the price. I would do it again,’ Gwyn said, even though his voice shook.

Augus stared at him, and couldn’t quite place the emotion inside of him, the thing that roared uncomfortably to life and pointed out that Gwyn was literally willing to put his life on the line for Augus, and had calmly said he’d do it again. No one in the world wanted to put their life on the line for Augus, except Ash. And Augus had made sure that had never needed to happen.

But he couldn’t stop Gwyn.

‘Don’t you _dare_ say that,’ his voice hoarse. ‘Not _ever_ again.’

The way Gwyn stared at him then, and Augus wished he could wash his hands of the tragedy of it. Found it _revolting._

‘You just can’t deal with it, can you? I know how much you want someone to care about you. It is practically the driving force behind your whole personality. And then you get it, and _look_ at you.’

‘Get out,’ Gwyn commanded, and Augus saw the weak attempt of Gwyn’s denial, and chuckled.

‘No, actually. I rather think I’m just going to get comfortable.’

He straddled Gwyn after pushing him down, his knees on either side, hips not quite resting on Gwyn’s torso. Well, no. That would be heartless. Augus was furious, but he didn’t want to send Gwyn back into unconsciousness again.

‘You’ve already guessed, but I’ll remind you, shall I? Someone checked you over, picked you up, dragged your immense, clunky frame into the lake. That someone washed your hair, cleaned any open wounds that were remaining, pushed two bones _back_ into your body, dressed you, and only left your side to check with the trows your preferred foods – one of which is apparently pure _sugar_ – and mixed tinctures for you from herbs that have possibly depleted your treasury. I can’t say I really care about that part. I haven’t left your side, waiting for you to waken properly. Which, I must add, took you forever. You were very determined to sleep for a long time. Why, it’s almost as though you needed it, because of how _brutalised_ you’d been.’

There was something strange and certain in Gwyn’s steady gaze. ‘You did all of that because I’m your captor. Let’s not beat around the bush here, Augus. Because I’m your captor, and you feel indebted to me.’

Augus realised what he was saying. Realised what he must have been thinking in the first place, to have watched Augus with that steady confident gaze, like he had it all figured out. He was so far from the truth that Augus despaired.

‘I beg your pardon? Say that again. _Go on._ Ask me how _indebted_ I feel, that you stripped me of my powers and threw me in a cell for six months.’

‘It happens,’ Gwyn said calmly.

Augus nodded, lowered his weight fully and listened to Gwyn’s pained groan.

‘It _does,’_ Augus said, half-smiling. ‘I’m familiar. I’m more familiar than you, you clod. Don’t talk to me about something that is in my wheelhouse. Don’t _dare_ to think you have as much finesse as _he_ did. You don’t have the stomach for it. You cast me into darkness once and then promised to never do it again. He cast me into darkness for _months,_ and wouldn’t _stop.’_

‘This isn’t real,’ Gwyn said desperately.

Augus snarled in reflex, reverting to the weight of his monstrousness, when words wouldn’t work. Of course Gwyn cringed, eyes squeezing shut like he wanted to avoid the mean thing. It gave him a headache. He lifted up, nearly got off the bed, and then changed his mind. He lay alongside Gwyn instead, facing him, and Gwyn stared back, looking from eye to eye, looking at Augus’ lips, his cheeks, his hair.

It was a quiet marvel, that he’d had his spine broken multiple times, and in a matter of weeks he was like this. Fragile, but functioning. Scared, and _wrong_ about nearly everything, but still here.

‘Do you know how weak you became, that my compulsions are _still_ working upon you?’ Augus said tiredly, matter-of-factly.

He didn’t wait for a response. He reached down to the blankets he’d moved aside in order to press his palm into Gwyn’s ribs, and pulled them back up again. He wanted the comfort more than Gwyn did. He wished for a hand against the back of his head, and someone to tell him that he could stop for a day. He could stop thinking. He could fuck Gwyn senseless if he wanted. He could do anything, except worry about this. It seemed all he did was worry.

When the blankets were in place, he turned back to Gwyn.

_‘Relax,’_ he compelled. He saw the initial struggle, was grateful for it, but happier still when Gwyn’s eyes closed. He reached up and tousled Gwyn’s hair, stroking it, indulging himself while Gwyn was awake enough to enjoy it too.

And Gwyn thought that he was just…brainwashed? That he had some master plan to escape still? Which was it? Did Gwyn think Augus was too helpless? Or too powerful? Maybe both, depending on whatever irrationalities he needed to satisfy in the moment. It was too much credit really, and it made him laugh to think on it.

‘Oh, Gwyn, I’m too lazy for it. I’m too lazy to do what you think I’ve been doing. Sweetness, I only managed that sort of effort once in my life, and I could only manage it because I was infected with madness.’

‘Don’t you want the power?’

‘It can wait,’ Augus said. Truthfully, he didn’t want it at all, but Gwyn’s plaintive words made it hard to turn him down outright. ‘I have a feeling I’m going to be quite distracted, if the transfer actually works. I haven’t had a new power to play with in some time.’

It was also strange to contemplate. Invisibility. Augus had never really wanted for powers that weren’t his, never sought after them. He could hide in a lake, conceal himself through other means. The idea that Gwyn expected his life to be so in danger upon release that he’d need to be able to turn himself invisible was alarming.

The idea that Gwyn was so serious about releasing him was…

_Don’t think about it._

_‘Very good,’_ Augus said, focusing on using his compulsions while he still could. Wanting the sigh, the groan that followed. Gwyn was so languid, from a single compulsion. But Augus had something else in mind, something he wanted Gwyn relaxed for first. ‘You are soaking this up like a sponge for a change. Who knew a little compulsion could go such a long way? You, like this, is very nice. Your forehead is relaxed. You’re hardly frowning.’

Expectedly, Gwyn frowned. Augus found that very amusing.

‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, leaning in to make sure the compulsion had to travel through as little space as possible, ‘ _you are never to put yourself in danger like that again, without checking with me first. Do you understand?’_

Gwyn’s resistance was instant, but Augus had thrown a lot of weight into the compulsion, and he watched the veins stand out on Gwyn’s forehead, and knew that he was losing the fight.

‘Don’t fight it,’ Augus whispered. ‘Don’t fight me in this.’

‘Withdraw it,’ Gwyn managed.

‘Just let it happen,’ Augus crooned, feeling no mercy at all. ‘Accept. Stop fighting me, Gwyn. Not in this. This is not a battle you can win.’

Gwyn continued to fight the compulsion, beginning to shake, overwhelmed by it, and Augus soothed him, but didn’t bother rescinding it. At this point, he’d rather Gwyn fall unconscious again with the weight of it reverberating through his mind. At least this way, Gwyn would know how serious Augus was about his words. Would feel it stamped upon his mind for some time.

Abruptly, the compulsion must have been accepted, or Gwyn’s resistance ran out. Augus comforted him as his expression twisted, compelled him to relax, and stroked his chest, disturbed by the knowledge that were Gwyn susceptible to compulsions all the time, Augus would compel him to be safe.

‘You will, of course, ignore it later when you’re back at full strength. But I believe my point is made. You need to know, you can’t be trusted with your own welfare. Your actions go beyond yourself. You put the entire Seelie Court in jeopardy, Gwyn. Did you think of that? Of course not. Their King disappeared for days, allowed a powerful Unseelie fae to torture him, did you not think that Tigbalan will likely brag about it? He swears no oaths of secrecy when it comes to his violence. Only when it comes to what he’s trading the violence for. Are you prepared for strangers to come up and ask you what you did it for?

‘And more, Gwyn. What would have happened if you had died? Indulge my narcissism, which I think you’ll find easy, as you got this power for _me._ What would have happened to me if you had died? Kingship would have transferred to your King-in-Waiting – Albion – and he would have discovered me. What then?’

Gwyn trembled again, and Augus moved to touch him, sighing at Gwyn’s flinch, stroking the creases in his forehead.

‘Not to mention that you have been traumatised. Something I didn’t think you could achieve if the only trigger was violence.’

Complete denial from Gwyn, but Augus didn’t blame him. Perhaps Gwyn thought he was invincible too. This whole ordeal had to be something of a shock for him as well. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking much at all, Augus could tell he was tired.

Augus tested Gwyn’s reflexes, drawing his hand away, moving it back to the top of Gwyn’s head. The flinch was exactly the same, just as strong. He’d definitely been traumatised. Augus was reminded of the shock he’d felt when it was revealed just _how_ traumatised Gwyn had been when Augus had sounded him. He hadn’t even known, until days later. At least this he could witness as it happened.

_And how much of this will you earn, for having known me?_

He had to hold onto the knowledge that it was possible to heal from it, but it weighed him down all the same. ‘My dear heart, this will take some time. It takes time.’

_Which isn’t something I’m sure either of us have endless amounts of._

Gwyn turned to look at him, and Augus returned his gaze.

‘What did you call me?’

_Ah, well._

‘You heard me. Do you think it’s a trick? Of course you do.’

‘You…’

‘Look it up, if you must. You have all those libraries. Maybe they can teach you something that’s not about _war_ for a change.’

‘You shouldn’t say it.’

Augus rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t get to dictate what I should or should not do. And out of the two of us, who is the one susceptible to compulsions right now? Now shut up and get better, because this is tedious.’

Gwyn only stared at the ceiling. ‘I couldn’t go on like this, with you being a prisoner. It was the only way.’

Hearing it stated so baldly was shocking.

‘You should have come to me,’ Augus said, leaning closer. ‘I have contacts too. If I had known you were planning something so stupid…’

He couldn’t get the image of Gwyn covered in blood, his own bones sticking out of him, out of his mind. Had Gwyn already forgotten it? Or did he think of it too?

‘I didn’t know if it would work. I still don’t know.’ Gwyn laughed, and oh, he sounded so tired. Augus wanted to yell, to remonstrate, but a tired patient was a tired patient.

‘I’m not remotely done being angry about this. I think you should perhaps brace yourself for a couple of months of me not being done with this. And, also, you need a new table. Possibly some new inkpots.’

‘I can’t believe you,’ Gwyn said, but there was a smile in his voice, a light in his eyes that was too charming. ‘I thought you’d be jumping all over the place at the prospect of a new power.’

‘Firstly, I don’t _jump all over the place._ Ever. Secondly, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited, but as I am still your prisoner, and can only really use invisibility for ambushing you when you least expect it, it can wait. I can ambush you anyway. Thirdly, do you know how powerful I am? Please. You haven’t seen many signs of it, because for a while, I thought you might revoke my status if you realised what you’d done. But you _do_ realise, don’t you? The Raven Prince used to remark on how powerful I was when I was _underfae_ , before he invited me into his Court.’

Gwyn shuddered in a way that was wonderfully validating. When the strongest King much of the world had ever known subtly indicated he was intimidated by _Augus…_

‘Oh, you _do_ realise. It scares you.’

‘Of course you’d like that,’ Gwyn grumbled.

Augus almost laughed, pulled him close in his arms, embracing him, and then froze when he felt the way Gwyn’s chest hitched, his breathing changing abruptly. He pulled back.

‘Gwyn, how bad is the pain?’

Gwyn shrugged. ‘Had worse.’

Augus nearly pressed his palm to his forehead, instead was careful with his embrace as he reached for compulsions.

‘Gwyn, _it doesn’t hurt anymore.’_

Gwyn’s response was profound. Augus watched in amazement, some strange gratitude, even bemusement. What would it be like, to use compulsions like that all the time?

_Tedious, probably._

‘You could help other people so much, with an ability like that,’ Gwyn said.

Augus couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘I prefer to use it when I’m hunting, but this will do in a pinch. I think you should sleep again, Gwyn. Maybe you won’t be shaking when you wake up. Imagine the novelty. Now _sleep.’_

And so Gwyn slept, and Augus carefully draped himself alongside Gwyn’s body and closed his eyes, belatedly realising he’d not gotten Gwyn to eat anything yet and should remedy that at some point. But not now.

He rested his palm along Gwyn’s chest and felt the even, steady beat of his heart and thought he was doomed to this, really. He should probably accept it.

He wanted so badly to sleep, but he focused on resting instead, Gwyn’s body and blankets too warm together, and Augus hardly caring.

*

Later, Augus roused and tidied Gwyn’s room, flagging the trows to help him with the bits of wood and fixings and well, _ink,_ that had gotten everywhere. They’d stared at him in horror, and he’d only said:

‘You’d be angry at him too if you knew what he’d done. You’re lucky I took it out on the furniture.’

The trows had everything put relatively to rights quickly, cleaning the floor and occasionally stealing looks at Gwyn, seeming satisfied that he was sleeping and no longer completely covered in blood. And then they left Augus alone with him again, and seemed to trust that Augus would take care of him. Because they were gullible Seelie fools. Or because they had seen something in Augus that was genuine.

Probably both.

He stretched and left to change his clothes, thinking of all the ways he’d like to torment Gwyn once he awoke and was hail once more. And it was only as he pulled on a tight pair of black trousers that it occurred to him that he didn’t have to set up some elaborate scene, he could technically do whatever he wanted.

If he was awful enough, he could do it _now._ It wasn’t like Gwyn could stop him.

Augus paused, hands stroking over his hips as he fastened the pants and thought about it. He wasn’t even contemplating whether or not he’d do it, more coming up with a contingency plan for if Gwyn didn’t like it.

But, for the most part, Augus was confident of his ability to get Gwyn to like just about anything.

All Augus needed was the right attitude.

*

That evening, Gwyn still asleep – but sleeping more lightly than before – Augus rolled him onto his stomach and then smirked as he tore Gwyn’s tunic with his bare hands. He’d already clipped and then buffed his nails back, but it was satisfying all the same to destroy an item of Gwyn’s clothing. Especially while he was too insensate to do anything about it.

Gwyn’s body no longer even showed signs of bruising. Augus shook his head as he manoeuvred the sleep tunic off him and tossed it onto the floor.

_‘Keep sleeping,’_ Augus whispered, when it seemed like Gwyn was going to wake. He sighed back into the bed, and Augus smoothed his hands along the expanse of his back, curving over muscle and the dip of his spine and his thick, strong shoulders. It was intoxicating, Augus couldn’t quite get the images of violence out of his mind, a darker urge telling him that the thing was vulnerable, and he could dig his fingers into organs and pull out bones, do it as Tigbalan had done it, leave his mark and give him some fresh trauma to remember.

Augus shook his head at himself, contented himself only with touching, as Gwyn’s breaths puffed out sleep slow and relaxed.

He buried his face in Gwyn’s hair, breathing in the scent of all the things he’d used before to clean the blood away. There was still the very faintest scent of blood, probably still clinging to the inside of his ear canals, the places that Augus couldn’t safely get to. His hair was a soft cloud, the curls large and distinct.

He traced his fingers over Gwyn’s face, and then prodded his fingers into Gwyn’s mouth, his soft lips, his quiescent tongue. Made a mess of him, listened to his even breathing and hummed to himself, thinking that he’d never been someone to care much for these things. He’d always liked slow sensuality for himself, but for his clients, he’d only ever focused on giving them what they needed. Sometimes, it was what Augus craved too, but not always.

To indulge in someone else the way he indulged in himself was a new knowledge, something he treasured. He wanted to give Gwyn something good, leave his mark on Gwyn’s brutalised body in another way. Because Gwyn took himself out into the world and expected to be beaten and tortured and tormented, but he never expected pleasure.

He took his fingers out of Gwyn’s mouth, then got up and undressed quickly, unlacing his boots and leaving them by Gwyn’s bed. He climbed back on, half-leaning over him, trailing his hand down his back.

‘Ah, Gwyn,’ Augus whispered, as he dragged his palm over the curves of Gwyn’s ass. ‘I can say whatever I like, can’t I? And you can’t do a damn thing about it.’

But as Augus opened his mouth, he realised he wanted Gwyn to hear him.

He rooted around under the pillows with his other hand for the items he’d left there even after changing the pillows – bumping against a bedraggled quill, a fountain pen, three dice, and a tiny statue of a bird, until he found the armour lubricant that Gwyn had, unscrewing the lid and dipping his fingers into it. He painted it between Gwyn’s ass cheeks, using more and more until everything was slippery and warm. When Gwyn stirred, Augus leaned in close.

_‘Shhh, Gwyn. Sleep. Feel good for once.’_

A soft sigh from Gwyn, and Augus bit his lip again, smiling as he pushed up onto one arm and with the other, dipped his fingers against Gwyn’s lax entrance. He dipped his finger inside, the heat burning him. It was an easy slide all the way in, and Gwyn’s body shifted restlessly, before going still again.

Augus moved his finger back and forth, pushing in with two, and while it would be fun to do all of this while Gwyn slept, he wanted Gwyn to wake up to it. Wanted him to feel it.

He almost used a compulsion, and then decided against it. Shifted so that he was draped along Gwyn’s side, one leg hooked over one of Gwyn’s, fingers pumping into him. He pressed deep, curled back over Gwyn’s prostate and wondered how long it would take, how long the compulsion and sleep would twine together. He felt sweat break out over Gwyn’s body, pressed his face against Gwyn’s shoulder, pressed his nose to Gwyn’s neck, and thrust harder, gritting his jaw at the force of it, thinking that this was so…understated, compared to everything else he normally did.

But he didn’t hate it.

Gwyn roused at once, and his previously laboured breathing turned to a sobbing noise as Gwyn’s entire body undulated, his arms tensing, legs shifting.

‘Welcome back, took you long enough.’

_‘Augus,’_ Gwyn groaned, and Augus kept working him over, watching as Gwyn ground his hips into the bed. Very turned on then, but not entirely surprising. It was delicious watching Gwyn try to cope with it all. The man could handle all kinds of pain. Could stay silent while bones were healing. But enough pleasure and his hand dug into the bed like he couldn’t contain it. Augus wanted to make him scream with it, but that would come another time. This…this was to be something else.

He moved between Gwyn’s legs, his fingers still thrusting. ‘I want simple. You’re a terrible influence on me. I will never forgive you.’

‘You…like simple.’

Augus slicked up his cock and shook his head. ‘I like _slow.’_

He forced Gwyn’s legs wider and scraped his nails hard down Gwyn’s back, enough to draw red lines. Gwyn gasped, arched into it, and Augus did it again just to watch him squirm, to see with satisfaction what it was when he had Gwyn reacting to him and only him.

Augus notched his cock into place and slid into him firmly, not stopping when Gwyn shifted like he wanted Augus to go slower, not stopping until his pelvis was pressed hard into the ass cheeks he’d stroked earlier. Unsurprisingly, Gwyn chose that moment to cover his face with part of his forearm, muffling the noise he made.

_Lovely. But no, Gwyn, not tonight._

‘Always with this. Always. _Move your arm.’_

_Do you want to see how it could be with compulsions?_

Gwyn moved his arm away, and then abruptly froze, and Augus understood why Gwyn was suddenly frightened. In a combination of anger and lust, he pressed down and _in_.

‘Are you getting it now?’ Augus said, pulling back, hips moving forward in a wave. Gwyn shoved his mouth into the mattress and Augus clucked his tongue. ‘Do you understand how low on power you truly are? Resisting compulsions has always been easy for you. It was something you don’t have to _try_ at. I can tell when someone struggles to resist one of my compulsions, and you don’t. You flick them off like drops of water. Even my strongest compulsions, when you are at normal strength, are not even irritants. And now…’

Augus opened his mouth as he thrust hard, enjoying the heat and tightness, not bothering to hold back his orgasm. It would take a little while to build anyway.

_‘Turn your head to the side. I want to hear you.’_

He grinned as Gwyn turned his head to the side, used the time after to drive in harder than before, more fluidly, making sure he was more than glancing over Gwyn’s prostate every time, eating every deep, hungry, lost noise Gwyn made.

‘Good,’ Augus said, gritting his teeth and jerking his hips forward, making Gwyn whimper. ‘Good, I like this. Are you close? Do I even have to ask? I have a trick I’ve been wanting to show you. Might as well show you now.’ A pause, Gwyn seemed receptive even though he was still hardly able to concentrate, and Augus ran his tongue over sharper canines as he stared down at the side of Gwyn’s face. ‘Gwyn, I want you to really _feel_ what I’m doing to you.’

It only took one word. One compulsion. Gwyn cried out, voice breaking painfully, and then he was coming violently.

‘That’s it, sweetness,’ Augus said, laughing to himself. ‘That’s it. Look at you. _Ah,_ that’s very nice.’

Gwyn tightening and relaxing around him, the ripples of his orgasm meaning that Augus fucked into a clenching squeeze that felt wonderful. Augus thought maybe he was being unfair, putting Gwyn’s body through too much, and he hardly cared. It was no more than he’d ask of Gwyn at any other time, and it was certainly far less than what Gwyn put himself through.

He panted softly, getting control of his own arousal until his breathing was even again, Gwyn’s broken, continued moaning making him want to bite down and tear until blood spilled. Instead, Augus made himself still, feeling those small movements of Gwyn’s ass against his cock. He could feel how tired Gwyn was, but he wasn’t done yet.

‘Good, wasn’t it?’

Gwyn hummed, seemed like he was ready to sleep. Augus smiled to himself.

‘Let’s keep going,’ he said lightly. ‘I’m not done with you yet.’

He began thrusting once more, and Gwyn reacted abruptly to the overstimulation, his bent arms reaching up, fingers splaying like he wanted to hold onto something but wasn’t sure what to grasp. Without thinking about it, Augus slid his fingers between Gwyn’s and pinned his hands down to the bed, using the leverage to move with more determination. He could hear that it hurt now, Gwyn hiding his mouth against the bed but unable to hide the tone of a voice under strain. Augus knew his movements were rocking a too-sensitive cock against the mattress, that Gwyn’s prostate would hurt, and he _loved_ this part.

But he stayed focused on Gwyn’s pleasure too. It was the point, after all. No matter what happened in the future, Gwyn would never have this with anyone else. Augus was sure of it.

A few minutes later, Gwyn relaxed back into the bed, accepted what was on offer, turning like he wanted to look back at Augus. But Augus didn’t want that, just wanted him to stay receptive, and let go of Gwyn’s hand to push him back to the bed gently.

‘Focus. Relax, Gwyn.’

Gwyn sagged like he’d been compelled, and Augus returned his hand back to Gwyn’s and squeezed in reassurance. He was surprised at how intense it was. He’d wanted it to be a lot for Gwyn, but it wrapped him up too.  

Augus’ forehead furrowed as he focused instead on the rhythm of his movements, dragging Gwyn back into arousal. He knew the moment he had him exactly where he wanted him, keeping him on that edge of lax pleasure, overwhelming him with it. There was plenty of time to do what he wanted.

After all, he not only liked simple, he did like slow.

Another few minutes, and Augus blew out a breath as he stepped up the intensity, driving after his own orgasm now. There was a chance he’d come first, and he didn’t care. He had his tricks, and he was confident Gwyn would be receptive to them. Gwyn shuddered beneath him, tensed, gasped as Augus’ hips slammed into his.

‘Who belongs…to who?’ Augus said, laughing. ‘I could have gotten you to let me go, some time ago. I could compel my release in a heartbeat, and could have done so multiple times…over the past few days. But I’m…going to live for a long time. And I’m having _fun,_ doing this with you.’

Was this what Ash found in the human realm so much? Play and fun? Those elusive things that Augus never quite had enough of in his life? Augus cast the thoughts away. Not now. They could wait.

Gwyn was close, but not close enough, and Augus wanted the intensity of Gwyn’s orgasm around him as he worked for his own.

_‘Keep your light back, and feel,’_ Augus commanded, voice rough.

Gwyn’s orgasm was instantaneous, Augus’ compulsion too rough and unforgiving to even allow a build. The clench of Gwyn’s ass against him was exquisite, and Augus’ jaw worked as he kept up a merciless rhythm. When Gwyn wailed, Augus knew they were both done for. His head dropped, he bit deep into Gwyn’s shoulder, blood spilling richly into his mouth as they both came, Gwyn still shattered by the compulsion.

Augus slid his hand free, licked over the mess of blood, and began to withdraw only to be surprised by Gwyn flinching beneath him, his ass tightening as though to hold Augus in place. It would’ve hurt him to do it.

‘Wait. Wait. Don’t.’

Augus hesitated, frowning. Would it be better to withdraw and take care of him physically? Or stay and offer the emotional comfort? Augus hadn’t expected him to ask for it like that. With his body, his words, both at the same time.

He couldn’t help but lay back down again, feeling Gwyn’s heart through his own chest where it rested against skin.

‘You are so needy. Look at you. I could get used to this.’

_I want to._

Gwyn yawned deeply, and Augus lapped at the blood that had spilled, cleaning him like an animal might. He liked the taste of it on his tongue. Bright and true, giving his waterhorse-self something visceral.

‘What does it taste like?’ Gwyn asked, head turning. Augus could see how exhausted he was when he lifted his head, smiling ruefully. He wasn’t ready to return to Kingship just yet.

‘Copper and iron. Ozone, in the way that you can smell it when you have a near miss with lightning. Burnt carbon perhaps. But, mostly, _blood.’_

Augus went back to licking, carefully digging his tongue into the grooves his teeth had left behind. Yes, his canines had been sharper, the wound was less blunt than normal, but deeper too. It would heal swiftly, and Augus would be free to bite him again, bleeding him again. The benefits of a King with superior healing.

_Many benefits. He’d be dead without them._

‘Thank you,’ Gwyn said.

Augus blinked, frowned. His cock was soft within Gwyn now, not sliding out due to the weight of Augus’ hips against Gwyn’s. He had the taste of Gwyn’s blood in his mouth. Despite knowing him so well, owning him so thoroughly, Gwyn could still surprise him.

‘You’re welcome,’ Augus said finally. ‘It’s not over though. I meant it earlier. It will take time for you to move through this. This is just…temporary reprieve. Besides, I believe I am the one who should be thanking you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Gwyn said.

Augus blinked at his impishness, nearly laughed but caught himself at the last moment. Oh, but he was like that, wasn’t he? Mischievous when he thought he could get away with it.

‘I didn’t actually _say_ thank you, I just said I _should.’_

‘That’s not what I heard,’ Gwyn said, and Augus smiled against his skin, liking this. Because this wasn’t the defensive quipping of a torture victim. And it wasn’t Gwyn sending him away. It was intimate and pleasant and left him worried for the both of them.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Augus said in affectionate despair, and Gwyn only nodded.

Augus reached for his hand, took it up and stroked his thumb over the back of Gwyn’s hand. Gwyn was quiet beneath him, and Augus’ thumb slowed as exhaustion crept over him, heavier and more weighty than he’d been expecting. Was that what he’d been holding back? Was that what he couldn’t look at, because he’d had to stay alert for Gwyn’s sake?

But he didn’t have to now, did he?

His breathing slowed, and he felt strange about letting it. He wanted this. He wanted resting upon Gwyn’s back and not rushing to take care of him. He wanted to be the one who rested first. He wanted to trust in simplicity.

_Oh,_ he thought, pressing down more closely to Gwyn’s body, the side of his head resting over the wound he’d made, damp mane catching and curling to his skin.

He’d never let himself do this before. And Gwyn wasn’t stopping him. Augus couldn’t sense distress in his heart, he couldn’t sense pain in his body, beyond the pain of his previous injuries. Even that was only in the background. Gwyn’s meridians were flowing, and Augus could even sense his heartsong thrumming through his spine, a bright malleable thing, a light that needed someone to protect it.

It was only a doze in the end, but Augus let himself fall into it. His last thought was that he fought so hard to leave a lasting mark on Gwyn, to compensate for the one that had already been left upon him.


End file.
